


On Your Side

by LaceyAmethyst



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Additional pairings tbd, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceyAmethyst/pseuds/LaceyAmethyst
Summary: Monty meets Winston at a Hillcrest "rich kid" party and is instantly drawn to him. He can't help himself. He knows he doesn't deserve anything; not Winston, not care, not trust, not love. But things aren't that simple when it comes to matters of the heart.And Winston's not one to give up on someone so easily.--A Winston/Monty fic where they meet in similar circumstances as they do in the show, but their time together isn't cut short tragically. Basically I'm writing what coulda/shoulda happened if Winston hadn't come into Monty's life too late.
Relationships: Montgomery de la Cruz/Winston Williams
Comments: 105
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first 13 Reasons fic, and I'm still feeling my way through the universe and characters. Hoping I do them some justice. Always grateful for comments, constructive criticism, and suggestions! 
> 
> To be clear, I'm not tolerating anything that show!Monty did. This is pure fiction, and I don't feel the need to say more. 
> 
> In this fic's universe, Monty never did what he did to Tyler in the show, but he's still a bully and Bryce's lackey. Not a very nice guy, but Winston's about to change that.

Monty looked out of the car window wearily as he and Bryce pulled into the driveway of the mansion. The hum of party music infiltrated his ears immediately, and he could see people milling about the huge and ridiculously well-kept front lawn.

He’d been surprised when Bryce had called him up to hang out. They’d been drifting apart ever since Bryce transferred to Hillcrest, and Monty had slowly begun to accept it. Bryce had done some terrible things, and Monty knew it – he’d done a lot of Bryce’s bidding himself, after all. But despite the fact that he’d slowly begun to despise Bryce, this summer Monty had admittedly been quite lonely. Charlie had peaced off on an internship in Oregon and Scott was spending time with his father in Sacramento. Bryce had clearly been dealing with some personal issues – Monty heard he wasn’t having the best start at Hillcrest – but when he’d rung him up on Thursday to invite him to this party, he’d thought _what’s the worst that could happen?_

“Come on, man,” Bryce chuckled, unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out of the car. Monty followed suit. “Don’t look so down. Purcell only throws one of these a year, and it’s always a good time.”

Bryce jogged ahead of him, spoke with one of the guys hanging around outside to confirm he was okay to park there. After a few nods exchanged, he turned around and gestured for Monty to follow him.

The house was easily three times the size of Bryce’s, which was already gargantuan compared to Monty’s own. He never hid the fact that he hated “rich kid” parties, but a party at Bryce’s was different; at least he knew people there. But being here, at a random Hillcrest senior’s house, looking around at all the glitz and wealth put a bitter taste in Monty’s mouth, especially when he thought of the hell he had to return home to every night. 

Monty followed Bryce as he bypassed the front door and jogged around to the back of the house, where there were lights strung up around a tear-drop-shaped pool. People were hanging out around the pool and up on the wraparound balcony, and everyone was sporting the classic red solo cup. Looking around, Monty had to stop himself from scoffing at all the bright-eyed, tipsy students, laughing like they had no care in the world. They all looked the same to him. Rich, vapid, privileged. _Must be nice having everything served to you on a silver platter._

Bryce was saying something to him about leaving if the party sucked, and Monty nodded absentmindedly. When they reached the top of the stairs that led into house, Bryce clapped him on the shoulder.

“All right! It’s time to get fucked _up,_ ” he said, grinning. “Bet this house has top shelf whiskey.”

He saw Bryce disappear into the house and paused before he could follow. He looked back out at the pool; he didn’t know whether he was just trying to survey the landscape some more, get some sense of his bearings, or if he was really trying quell his own discomfort about being there. After a moment, he turned and walked in the direction of the house. If he was going to be spending the night partying with rich strangers, the least he could do was take advantage of the alcohol. 

And that’s when he first saw him.

He was dressed pretty much like everyone else there – navy shirt, white jeans, “rich kid” clothes, he’d call them. The gold watch on his left wrist gleamed in the sunset light. But if you asked Monty years later what caught his attention first, his answer would always be the same: it was his eyes. Those damn hazel eyes that looked like you could drown in them. Monty was used to people, especially strangers, breaking eye contact with him immediately – he’d been told on numerous occasions (usually by a teasing Charlie or a laughing Bryce), that his stare had a way of paralyzing people with fear. But the boy leaning on the balcony was already looking at him when Monty locked eyes with him. Seeing a stranger actually hold his gaze for more than a second – hell, not just _hold_ his gaze, the boy’s eyes were basically boring into him – was so foreign to Monty. For a moment he had no idea what to do.

The best he could do was hold the boy’s gaze in return, but even then the brunet’s gaze was so intense that Monty instantly felt vulnerable. It was as if the stranger was seeing a part of Monty that he usually kept hidden to anyone but himself. As he approached the house, he broke eye contact. He had the bizarre feeling that he’d already shown the boy too much. It was only moments later when he caught up with Bryce in the kitchen that he realized his heart was pounding like a drum.

Throughout the course of the party, despite his best efforts Monty couldn’t get the boy out of his head. It was a weird yearning that he’d never felt before. He found himself looking around, trying to spot a navy shirt in the crowd. _What the fuck?_ he thought to himself, almost fuming with anger. _What am I, a fucking 13-year old girl with a crush?_

No. No _fucking_ way.

His frustration at himself only prompted him to drink more, and Bryce eagerly aided him in his quest to get as drunk as possible. Two hours later, he wandered upstairs to find the bathroom, stumbling up the staircase and down the first floor hallway. Man, he was really fucked up.

“Where’s the fucking bathroom?” he muttered to himself, peering into yet another bedroom. But this time he stopped in his tracks.

The boy in the blue shirt was there, lying down on the floor inspecting a record. He looked so relaxed, and his gaze had that same air of confidence that made Monty’s heart seize.

“Not the bathroom, friend,” he said, placing the record back down onto the carpet. Monty couldn’t tell whether he sounded disinterested or just indifferent. Maybe both. “And don’t piss on the bed. Rumor has it Purcell isn’t much into that.”

Monty was grateful for the alcohol in him, because he wouldn’t have known what to say in response otherwise. He chuckled instead, placing his drink on the dresser beside him. But he kept staring at the boy, who, again, held his gaze like a radar lock on a fighter plane. Monty took in the sight of him; he was skinny, but it suited him. Not like some kids at Liberty who were made of small bones and one joint too many. This boy… he really was something special. Monty would notice him from a mile away. And now… Now he looked like a fucking wet _dream,_ splayed out on the floor like-

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck-

And then the boy stood up in one swift movement, with none of the usual clumsiness and abruptness that Monty was used to with his heavyset jock friends, and approached him slowly. Monty stepped aside to let the boy pass, but his eyes never once left his form.

And then the brunet’s hand was closing the door slowly. Monty’s heart was really pounding now. He felt, for once, like the prey and not the predator.

And then he heard the lock click.

The music in playing in the living room was muted now, they were alone, but even then Monty didn’t have the sense to move. It was like he was stuck in time, in this surreal reality where just for a moment he wasn’t feeling even a trace of anger or fear or discomfort.

Those eyes were approaching him again, and he held his gaze, but with less certainty now. He took in the shape of the brunet’s eyes—doe eyes, if he’d ever seen them—his chiseled jaw, the slope of his nose. The way his gaze read confident, _predatory,_ but innocent at the same time. Was it innocence? Curiosity?

To Monty it felt like safety. Like a surreal sense of calm had pervaded the room.

His eyes drifted to the boy’s lips—they looked like lips that were meant to bitten. Meant to be kissed.

_Fuck,_ Monty screamed internally. _No. No, no, no—_

And then the boy’s hand was on his arm, and he was leaning in. As soon as Monty felt his warm lips on his own, the calm in his heart shattered and he reacted instinctively. Before he knew it his hand was fisting the boy’s blue shirt.

The first thing he noticed was the shock he felt in his heart reflected in the boy’s gaze. There were hands on his arms–gentle, firm hands that held him still.

“Easy,” the brunet whispered. He didn’t stutter; his eyes were devoid of judgment.

Slowly, Monty’s heartbeat slowed, though his breaths were coming in what sounded like gasps. The boy’s lips were slightly parted now, and his tongue moved to lick them uncertainly. Monty felt intoxicated, and not from the alcohol that Bryce had been serving him all night. This boy made him feel fucking drunk.

The voice at the back of his mind, the one that spoke up every time he felt like mouthing off to his father, chose that moment to pipe up. _What the fuck are you thinking? He’s a fucking guy. What the fuck, Monty? Your father will fucking kill you.._

But looking into the stranger’s hazel eyes, stuck in a weird limbo with his fist in his shirt and his eyes blown with desire, Monty did two things for the first time in his life: He leaned in to kiss a boy, and he ignored the voice that always warned him what would happen if he ever went against his father.

He crashed their lips together, and though the boy seemed shocked at the initial impact, he kissed back eagerly. And then Monty was gripping the back of his head with both hands, a new desperation seizing him. The boy reciprocated without hesitation, gripping Monty’s arms tighter now. Monty stepped forward, that innate desire to be in control always gripping him. Monty worried at the boy’s bottom lip, coaxing a small sound out of him before his lips parted to let Monty in.

His head was dizzy with lust, and he pushed forward again, slipping his tongue into the boy’s hot mouth. He tasted like alcohol, but not the hard liquor Monty had been downing all night. Something fruity. Was it raspberry? Strawberry? Whatever it was, Monty wanted more.

He barely noticed when the boy’s back hit the wall, but he _did_ notice when he took another step forward and their bodies pressed together. He felt the boy’s hardness pressing against his inner thigh, and bit his lip to contain himself.

“I-I’m Winston, by the way.”

Monty blinked as the boy—Winston—came back into focus in front of him. His brown eyes were wide with lust, and his mouth, wet and bitten-red, was hanging open.

A few seconds passed, and Monty knew he must’ve looked like an idiot standing there.

“Monty,” he responded finally, but it came out like a groan.

And just when he thought he couldn’t get more fucked, Winston smiled, his mouth spreading like a sunset over the horizon. Fuck, he was… he was fucking beautiful.

“Nice to meet you,” Winston said.

Monty didn’t know what to say – he’d never _done_ this before. Before he could panic and run the _fuck_ out of that room, he gripped Winston’s hair in one hand and kissed him again.

Emboldened, Winston pressed his entire body against Monty’s, and Monty relished it when their clothed cocks brushed up against each other and Winston moaned against his lips. He slipped a hand underneath Winston’s shirt, which he had been fisting just moments ago, and traced his fingers across the boy’s slim waistline. _Shit,_ Monty was so fucking hard.

Sadly, he knew the voice in the back of his mind wouldn’t be silenced for long. He could feel it piping up again, and he knew he had to end this, and quickly. So before Winston could kiss him again, he pushed him to his knees and started unbuckling his belt hurriedly. He glanced down to see Winston looking back up at him. His eyes wide and insufferably naïve, but not to the world—to Monty. He didn’t know Monty. Didn’t know everything he had done.

Monty’s heart clenched, and he didn’t know why.

But then Winston’s hands were on his hips, and he was grinning as he helped Monty out of his boxer briefs. Monty’s hand went to Winston’s hair again, to guide his lips, but Winston was one step ahead of him, taking Monty’s cock into his mouth without a second thought.

It took every ounce of self-control in Monty—which, to be fair, _really_ wasn’t very much—not to cum on the spot. Winston’s mouth was hot and wet and perfect, and he was seeing stars. He instantly closed his eyes, because he knew if he looked down, looked at Winston’s mouth wrapped around his hard cock, he’d cum much too soon. And though a part of him needed this to end as soon as possible, another part of him—his better angel—wanted it to last for as long as he had left to breathe.

He fought to keep himself from groaning, but it proved too difficult. A soft whimper escaped him, and he bit down on his bottom lip, _hard._ Below him, Winston wasn’t slowing down. He licked a stripe up the underside of Monty’s cock, and Monty threw his head back. _Fuck,_ he thought, _He’s so fucking good at this._ He’d had his dick blown plenty of times—in random bathrooms and guest rooms at parties, hell, even once in Bryce’s backyard behind the hot tub. But they never once felt like this.

Monty accidentally opened his eyes then, and the sheer sight of Winston on his knees, head bobbing up and down as he sucked him off with a simple eagerness, had Monty feeling too much in his chest.

“I’m gonna—I-I’m gonna cum,” he stuttered, struggling to keep himself under control, breaths really coming in gasps now.

He half-expected Winston to take his mouth off his dick, but instead Winston sped up, gripping the base of Monty’s cock and jerking it with his one free hand. Monty’s knees buckled a little as he came into Winston’s mouth, and he felt the his hands on the backs of his thighs as if to help him stay upright.

_Fuck, no one should look that innocent right after sucking dick,_ Monty thought when Winston looked back at him as he rode out his orgasm. His eyes were bright, hopeful. Hope wasn’t something Monty had seen a lot of, or _felt_ a lot of, these days.

After a moment, Winston got to his feet, and Monty looked down and realized that Winston was still hard.

Fuck, he hadn’t thought about that. Was he supposed to reciprocate? The thought of giving a guy a hand job scared the shit out of him. If his father could see him now, he’d probably be locked in the basement and never see the light of day again.

“It’s fine,” Winston said suddenly, though his voice was raw and husky now. Understandably, Monty supposed. “You don’t have to—” he gestured at his jeans and shrugged.

Monty swallowed.

“Okay,” he said. Winston was looking at him again with those inquisitive eyes, and now, in the aftermath, fear was starting to grip Monty’s chest. He needed to get the fuck out of there.

“I should go, then,” he said quickly. Before he could turn to leave, his eyes caught Winston’s again and he paused. He expected to see judgment in his eyes, or disgust, which he usually recognized in the faces of all the one-night stands he’d walked out on, but he couldn’t read the expression on his face.

Winston opened his mouth and closed it again. It looked like he was going to say something, but Monty rushed out of the room before he could find out.

***

He wandered around the house in a kind of trance, only half-taking in what was around him. Night had fallen over Evergreen now, and the music was getting louder. It was still tamer than some of the parties Liberty usually threw—maybe rich kids didn’t like dancing on the tables and disturbing their parents’ fine china—but the vibe was good nonetheless. Monty was on a quest to find Bryce, but even after going around the house twice, he couldn’t locate him. He hadn’t seen Winston again either.

When he felt like he was sobering up a little too much, he went to the kitchen and downed another shot. He found himself at a beer pong table, absently cheering on random guys. Truth be told, he and Charlie could smoke these rich kids at beer pong. They had no game.

An hour later, he made his way to the front door, wondering if Bryce had in fact left him. He’d texted him a few times now, but had only gotten radio silence in return. Though he didn’t exactly blame Bryce for that. He was notoriously bad at checking his phone at parties.

As he approached the front door, he saw Bryce standing by his car with Alex fucking Standall. Monty rolled his eyes.

“Yo, Bryce, what the fuck!” he called at the top of the stairs. “Where the fuck have you been?”

He made his way down the stairs, catching himself just barely as he staggered. God _damn,_ he was drunk.

“Hey, man.”

The sound of his voice again sent a shiver straight up Monty’s spine. He turned around, though he already knew who it was. Winston was standing there at the foot of the stairs, his lips spread in a small smile. There was that hope again, bright on Winston’s face.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said. “We should hang out sometime.”

The pounding in Monty’s chest was deafening. He could feel his face heating up as he glanced back at Bryce again, who was none the wiser, still chatting with Alex. But _fuck,_ what was he supposed to say? This was supposed to be a fucking one-time thing – hell, it was supposed to be a _none-_ time thing, but he’d gone and made it one and now this guy was standing in front of him, looking at him so fucking _normally, like…_ like Monty was fucking normal. Like it was perfectly normal to be asking Montgomery de la Cruz to hang out after a hook-up.

_But he doesn’t know me,_ Monty thought. _Doesn’t know I destroy everything in my path._

_Do you want him to know you?_ the voice in his head piped up.

That was about as much panic Monty’s chest could take, and before he knew it he was seeing black, and his fist was launching itself into Winston’s jaw. The shock of the action sent Monty flying to the floor with him. He caught himself in time to reposition himself on top of Winston and land another blow on his cheek.

He could have kept going. Could have kept punching, like he did to Alex that one time in the parking lot, and like he did to Luke that one time years ago they’d gotten into a stupid drunken fight in Bryce’s back yard.

But then he blinked and he saw Winston, blood trickling down his jaw, pretty eyes shut tight in pain. Those eyes that had not an hour before stared him down with all the confidence in the world. Those eyes that had not too long ago regarded him with blind trust – something Monty so rarely saw directed at him that it wasn’t until now that he realized what it had been.

_Mother fuck,_ Monty said – out loud or in his head, he didn’t know. His heart fucking _clenched._

Bryce’s hands were on him then, pulling him away. But he was already pulling himself away, letting Bryce and another guy drag him over to the former’s car. He fought against their grip a little bit, but not because he wanted to finish the fight. He wanted to get to Winston. Monty saw the smaller boy crawling up onto the stairs before collapsing, his perfect face red and purple.

“No,” he whispered, though he was the only one who heard it.

What the fuck did he do?

The next thing he knew Bryce had hauled him into the passenger seat and shoved an ice pack at him.

“I’ll be right back,” the older boy said.

“Where are you going?” Monty had the sense to ask, but Bryce had already disappeared back in the direction of the house.

Monty was alone. He looked down at his knuckles, which weren't as red as he thought they'd be. He thought of them making contact with Winston's cheek - tenderly when he'd guided him onto his cock up in the bedroom - then explosively when he'd beaten the shit out of him only moments before. 

And for once, that stupid voice in the back of his mind - which _always_ congratulated him when he picked a fight or acted the man's man - was deafeningly silent. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter, but I wanted to introduce Charlie and Estela and this sort of wrote itself so here there you have it.

Thank fuck Charlie was back from Oregon.

Ever since the party, Monty had been driving himself insane. It had only been a week, but every second Monty wasn’t actively doing something, he was thinking back to that night. He was never good at being alone with his thoughts—that’s why he liked to surround himself with people, with his teammates. But these thoughts were for him alone, and he knew no one could ever know. Every time his brain even entertained the thought that he might be anything but straight, the way he _needed_ to be, he had to distract himself by going on a run, taking a hike, even going on long stubborn walks around the block that had confused Estela to no end.

**Charlie:** Ahh sorry I have so much unpacking to do and my mom will actually kill me if I don’t do it all tonight

**Charlie:** Can we grab a bite closer to mine??

Monty groaned. He really didn’t want to drive all the way to Charlie’s neighborhood. He lived closer to the Chatham house, in a much nicer area than where Liberty, and Monty’s house, were. Monty always hated driving up there, and given his most recent experience in the area, this was no exception.

**Monty:** Fine

**Charlie:** Yay! There’s this bagel place around the corner, I’ll shoot you the address.

Monty chuckled. Charlie loved bagels, brought them for lunch almost every day to the point where Monty and Scott would sometimes just bring cream cheese for lunch and count on Charlie to bring a few extras.

**Monty:** Typical

**Charlie:** Just admit you missed me, de la Cruz

**Monty:** Fat chance. See you in 15

Monty grabbed his wallet and pulled a red flannel over his grey t-shirt before making his way out into the living room. He saw Estela sitting at the dining table scrolling through her phone, but he knew his sister well enough to know when something was wrong.

“What’s wr—” he paused when he saw Estela gesturing to their parents’ bedroom silently.

The door was closed, and Monty couldn’t hear anything at first, but after a moment he heard glass breaking. _Fuck._

“I thought he was still asleep,” Estela whispered, her brow furrowed in worry. “He—he came home really late last night.”

Monty nodded. He’d heard his father stumble in just after 4am.

Mr. De la Cruz usually came home late and piss drunk, but typically that meant he’d be sleeping until at least the afternoon, giving Monty and Estela plenty of time to enjoy a relatively normal morning and leave before he saw fit to wreak havoc.

Suddenly, the sound of another glass object breaking filled the house, and Estela flinched.

“What are your plans today?” he asked quickly.

Estela shrugged. “I was going to hang out with Samantha, but she had to cancel cause she woke up with a fever, so—”

“All right, you’re coming with me then,” Monty said immediately.

“What?”

“You know I’m not leaving you here with him, ‘Stela,” Monty said, rolling his eyes. “Now come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To hang out with Charlie,” he sighed.

“Oh,” Estela’s eyes lit up. Everybody liked Charlie.

“Yeah,” Monty said, glancing back at her and allowing himself a smirk. “It’s not exactly hanging with Samantha, but it’s gonna have to do, aite?”

Estela just nodded, shooting her brother a quick smile before getting into the passenger seat.

***

“When is Scott back from Sacramento, again?” Charlie asked, now on his second bagel. He’d skipped breakfast to unpack, it seemed, and was now wolfing down his meal like a hungry puppy.

“I dunno,” Monty shrugged. “Been there long enough.”

“Aww, you really did miss us.”

“Fuck off,” Monty quipped back.

“Hey, language,” Charlie laughed, glancing at Estela.

“I’ve heard him say much worse,” Estela giggled.

Charlie was really good with Estela. He’d asked her questions about her summer, her schoolwork, what movie she’d last seen at the Crestmont, and Monty was grateful for his friend because even though Estela was his sister, he didn’t always know how to hold a conversation with her. They’d never really been close like that growing up. His father, with a raging temper and loose fists, had fostered a culture of isolation in their home, and Monty had fallen into it. He’d protect Estela with his life, no question, but when it came to talking to her, he didn’t always know what to say.

“So, you ready for the friendly against Hillcrest next week?”

Right. That had almost slipped his mind, which was saying a _lot,_ given that football was typically on his mind 24/7 to distract him from his shit home life.

“Yeah,” Monty shrugged. “I mean, we’ll smoke ‘em.”

“That’s the attitude!” Charlie laughed. “And you’ll get the first sense of what team you’ll be captaining this season.”

When Charlie saw Monty roll his eyes again, he shook his head. “Hey, you’re a shoe-in.”

“Yeah, tell that to Zach Dempsey, or hell, even _Foley_ ,” he said, shaking his head. “Got Kerba wrapped around their fingers. Besides, I’m not the _nice guy_ Kerba wants in the captaincy, anyway.”

“I mean, you’re nice to me,” Charlie said, more quietly now.

“Yeah,” Monty said with a sigh. “Whatever. Captaincy or not, we’re winning state this season, okay?”

“Hell yeah.”

After they finished their bagels, Estela insisted on getting coffee. Neither Monty nor Charlie drank coffee—they preferred their regular energy drinks—but Monty had already dragged Estela all the way across town and he didn’t want a moody sister in the passenger seat.

Charlie brought them to a coffee shop around the corner that looked three times fancier than Monet’s. Monty felt out of place again, but he wasn’t about to show that in front of his sister.

Estela walked up to the counter to order while Monty and Charlie grabbed a table by the window. Just as Charlie started telling him about his time in Oregon, Monty noticed a familiar mop of black hair as he glanced around the room.

His heart turned to ice.

It was Winston, standing by the counter, in line in front of Estela. He immediately dragged his eyes away and tried to listen to what Charlie was saying. _Mount Hood… the wonders of nature… and oh my god, the food… blah blah blah._

The sound of Estela dropping her phone jolted Monty out of his focus. He glanced back at her and saw Winston handing her phone back to her.

“Oh, thanks!”

“Yeah, no problem,” Winston said, smiling.

He was wearing a blue shirt, lighter than the one he’d worn at the party, and black jeans. His hair was swept to the side today, curlier than Monty remembered. But he looked every bit as breathtaking as the first time Monty had seen him. So it hadn’t just been the alcohol.

He had a crossbody bag on him, and when Monty looked closer he noticed it was the same kind of bag Tyler Down carried around school. A camera bag, maybe? The other thing Monty noticed was that Winston still had clear remnants of the bruises he’d given him along his jawline and across his cheek. The cut on his lip hadn’t healed perfectly either.

When it was Winston’s turn to order, Monty was embarrassed at himself for straining to listen. Charlie had chosen an opportune time to go to the bathroom.

“Hey, Winston,” the barista said, greeting him with a handshake. “The usual, small hazelnut latte?”

“Yeah, thanks Hugo,” he said. His voice was huskier than Monty remembered, but hell, they hadn’t exactly talked much, had they?

“Haven’t seen you much lately,” the barista continued as he started Winston’s latte.

Winston nodded. “Yeah, been a busy summer.”

Monty found himself wondering what else Winston had been up to, other than getting the shit kicked out of him by a guy he hooked up with at a random party.

“If you don’t mind me asking…” the barista continued, eyeing him inquisitively. “You get in a fight or something? ‘Cause you don’t strike me as the type to.”

Winston paused for a moment, and his hand went up to fix his hair. He was still wearing the same gold watch. Then he chuckled, and the sound of it made Monty feel something he couldn’t place.

“Nah,” he said. Monty wished he could see Winston’s face now. “Got home from a party pretty drunk the other night and managed to fall all the way down the stairs.”

The barista laughed, and Winston joined him.

“Damn, take care of yourself, kid,” he said, giving him his latte.

“Thanks, keep the change,” Winston said, giving the guy a ten dollar bill for a latte that was most certainly not ten dollars.

When Winston passed his table, Monty looked away, doing his best to cover his face with the menu without looking stupid. He looked out the window and saw him unlock a blue Audi R8. He watched Winston place his coffee up on the hood, fish his phone out of his pocket and begin texting.

“D’you think I should get a hot chocolate?”

Charlie’s voice startled him.

“Uh, yeah, man, whatever,” he said as Charlie picked the menu off of him and began reading it.

When Monty glanced back to the street, Winston and the Audi were gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few things:
> 
> 1\. I do not know anything about football, but I live with a huge football fan and we watch a ton of games so I do pick things up here and there. Hopefully I didn't butcher the game too much in this chapter. I also took some liberties with the typical football season timeline.
> 
> 2\. Monty's a defensive back on the show, but I made him a running back here just 'cause I wanted to write him and Charlie on the field together on offense. (Also, we definitely saw Monty on offense and defense on the show).
> 
> 3\. This chapter really really got away from me?? I have no idea how?? 
> 
> 4\. This chapter is v explicit yep

Hillcrest vs. Liberty was a game that always had a lot of history. The schools had been rivals since their inception, and time and time again Hillcrest would always end up on top, whether it was knocking Liberty out of the playoffs or preventing them from getting to the playoffs at all. The previous season, Liberty and Hillcrest had made it all the way to the finals, and despite Bryce and the team’s best efforts they couldn’t escape the harsh 20-7 score line. Monty had seethed about it for a good 3 weeks that summer.

The locker room at Hillcrest where the Liberty team huddled before the game was tense. Though it was only a pre-season friendly, there was a sense that _everyone_ wanted to get out there and take back some of their pride. And now with Bryce playing for the other side, things were a little more complicated.

This was also the last chance Monty had to prove to Coach Kerba that he’d, you know, not _suck_ at being captain. He knew that he’d easily get the most votes from his teammates, but Coach would always say it wasn’t just about the votes. Monty didn’t really get it—wasn’t it supposed to be a fucking democracy? Just because he wasn’t Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes Dempsey didn’t mean he wasn’t cut out for the job. 

He got out on the field with the team, the cheers from the onlookers instantly deafening him. But he fucking loved it, loved being there under the bright lights. Hillcrest’s semester hadn’t even officially started yet, but the bleachers were full. There was a good amount of Liberty kids too. He could see the blue banners from the field.

He took his position behind Charlie, who was starting his first game as quarterback. He shot him a reassuring smile as they got ready to kick off. As a running back, he got beat up pretty bad, but never more than he did during Hillcrest games. Those fuckers played rough, but as his teammates would always say, Monty was always one step ahead when it came to standing up to a tackle.

He let the sound of the crowd blend into the background. He made eye contact with a middle linebacker, and shot him a Joker smile.

_Eat shit._

***

The halftime score was 14-14, and he beat Zach to the punch by giving the team a pep talk on the sidelines. Charlie had gone down pretty hard on a sacking, and out of an abundance of caution, Coach Kerba subbed Luke in as quarterback.

Monty jogged up to the bench and gave Charlie’s shoulder a quick squeeze.

“You’ll be fine, just keep the ice on it,” he said.

“I know,” Charlie said, smiling at up him.

Scott and Diego ran over as well, gathering around the junior quarterback.

“That Butler kid,” Scott scoffed, recalling the defensive back who’d slid in to take Charlie’s knee from under him after the sack. “Fucking piece of shit.”

“I’ll fucking take him out,” Diego said, glancing back at the field.

“Guys, I’m _fine,_ ” Charlie laughed. “No taking anyone out illegally, Diego.”

Monty took another swig of water from his bottle and sprayed some on his face before shaking it out of his hair. As he glanced back toward the bleachers, he paused for a moment.

Monty knew there was a possibility that he’d be there, but the whole week he’d been telling himself that not _everyone_ at Hillcrest watched football, and Winston didn’t seem like the football fan type anyway. He’d spent the whole week convincing himself that there was _no chance_ he’d see him at the game. It was the only way he could keep himself from losing it.

But there he fucking was. On the sidelines, no more than 30 feet from him. He had a camera in his hands, and his lips were bitten-red from the wind, the color they were the night they met. And he was looking straight at him.

Monty’s whole world froze. Yeah, it had to stop fucking doing that.

That was until his heart was pounding again, a mix of adrenaline and chaos running amok in his brain. It was strange, though. As he frantically put his helmet back on, trying his best to keep it together in front of Scott and Diego, he couldn’t help but glance back at Winston.

There it was again. That same confidence in his hazel eyes. Part of him was glad that he hadn’t destroyed it. Yet.

_Yet?_

When Coach Kerba called him back to the field, he ran back feeling freer than he’d felt in a while.

And when Butler, the fucking defensive back, tackled him next, he went high for an impossible catch and felt a grin splitting his face when he felt the ball in his hands.

***

The game ended in a surprising 23-20 score line in Liberty’s favor after some classic Zach Dempsey heroics, but Monty had contributed a touchdown and a few physics-defying catches and didn’t feel too shabby himself.

Monty laughed as he swung himself up to latch onto Charlie’s back.

“You are _so_ getting your dick sucked tonight,” he joked.

“Well, if you find a nice fella to introduce me to, I’m more than happy to explore that possibility, Monty,” Charlie quipped back, though his eyes were alight with joy.

Monty always knew that Charlie was gay. He’d told him right when they’d first met, and he’d never thought anything of it. The whole team had been accepting of the fact, though Charlie’d had to quiet homophobic slurs or jokes once in a while. But the team was getting better. Better at calling each other out, and better at _being_ better.

“You know, first guy who I think is worthy of you, I’ll send your way,” he said jokingly. But he was completely serious. He wanted Charlie to be happy.

“Hell, I would fucking suck your dick after the half you played,” Diego said, before looking around for Luke. “And Holliday’s too, where the fuck did he go?”

As they made through the parking lot to the team bus that would take them back to Liberty, Monty stopped in his tracks when he saw a familiar blue Audi on the far side of the lot.

And before he knew it, he’d made a decision, though he wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

“Hey, I just remembered I said I’d catch up with Bryce after the game,” he said.

Charlie frowned, as did Diego.

“You sure, man?” Diego asked. Diego always had his back first, no matter what. Even over Bryce. And Monty was always glad for it. Ever since Bryce had been exposed for his crimes and transferred to Hillcrest, not one person wasn’t wary of the guy.

“You want us to come with?” Charlie asked.

“Nah, no need,” Monty said, shrugging. “Go catch up with Scott. I was planning to Uber home anyway.”

As the team disappeared around the corner, Monty looked back at Winston’s car. What the fuck was he doing? Was he going to fucking wait for—

He turned on a dime when he heard footsteps behind him. Shit, shit shit.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he said before he could stop himself.

Winston’s eyes widened, and Monty hated how scared he looked. He really wasn’t off to a great start.

“Yearbook,” he said, palming his pockets for his keys. But Monty was standing between him and his car, and they both knew it. “I… I’m in yearbook. I’m was just… I’m going.”

He gestured at Monty with his keys in his hand and started walking to his car.

“Hey, hey, I ain’t gonna do anything,” he said.

Winston turned around slowly when he got to his car door.

“I gotta go.”

Monty blinked, taking a step forward. He’d never felt this insecure in his life, and part of him wanted to say something stupid, tell Winston to get the fuck out of there. Play the tough guy. But he swallowed that part of him down, because he needed to if he wanted to do this right.

_What is_ this _, exactly?_ The voice in his head quipped.

“Listen…” he started. “I’m sorry about last summer… I was drunk, and really fucked up.”

Winston was listening now, though his eyes were still wary.

“I didn’t mean to… I mean, I shouldn’t have hit you,” he continued. “I was just…”

And that part he couldn’t finish, even though he wanted to. What _was_ he, exactly? Fucked up? A coward? A bully? All of the above? Pretty much.

“It’s fine,” Winston said, a whisper of a smile on his lips. “I mean, appreciate the apology.”

Monty dared another step forward. He noticed Winston had a scar on his eyebrow, and wondered what the story behind it was. It was a bizarre thing to wonder, but Monty couldn’t help but study the face he’d been thinking about for the better part of two weeks. And this time he wasn’t drunk or hiding behind a coffee shop menu.

“You seem like a good guy,” he said, sounding more hopeful than he felt.

Winston looked at him steadily, and again Monty was floored by how _he_ was now the person having trouble holding a gaze. It had never troubled him before. But many things in Monty’s life had been _nevers_ until the party two weeks ago.

“Would you…” Winston started uncertainly. “My parents are gone all weekend,” he continued slowly, finally letting on that he was feeling a little nervous as well. “If you want to hang out.”

Monty blinked. The weight he didn’t know was on his chest suddenly lifted.

_He should know better than to ask you to hang out considering what happened the last time he did that._ Monty bit the inside of his lip and willed the hateful voice to go away.

_Please_ , he told it, feeling like an idiot for talking to an imaginary voice inside his fucking head. But he needed to. _Just leave me alone for one night._

Winston was still looking at him, uncertainty worrying at his brow, but Monty knew from the moment he asked that the answer would be yes.

“Yeah, I’m down to hang.”

And that’s how he ended up in Winston’s Audi, heading into the rich kid neighborhood for the third time in two weeks.

After 15 minutes of relative silence, broken only by Monty’s cheap attempts at small talk, they made it to a huge black gate, which Winston opened with a remote on his dashboard. Monty glanced over at Winston, whose eyes were on the road as they pulled into his driveway. Winston dragged his teeth across his bottom lip and smiled, catching Monty’s eye.

Monty looked away. God, he was fucking gorgeous.

“Come on,” Winston said, getting out of the car. Monty had been preparing himself for yet another typical rich kid pad, but he again found himself balking internally at the sheer size of Winston’s house.

Almost like he sensed Monty’s impending discomfort, Winston nudged him gently with his shoulder.

“My room’s ‘round back,” he said. “We can go that way.”

Winston led the way through the back garden, complete with a courtyard and a fountain—who has a fucking _fountain?_ —until they reached a veranda and a pair of large sliding doors. Winston unlocked them and led Monty inside.

Monty felt the plush carpet under his shoes as he walked into the warmth of Winston’s bedroom. It was easily three times the size of Monty’s, with a king-sized bed in the middle, a desk on one end with a ridiculous monitor set-up, and a wall filled with photos on the other.

“Shit, you fucking rich kids,” he quipped. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing for him to say, but damn, he couldn’t help himself.

Winston chuckled next to him. “Okay, okay, my mom went a little extra with the room when we moved in. I call it _being an only child_.”

Monty grinned at Winston, who looked away suddenly and brought his hand up to ruffle at his hair.

“Do you want something to drink?”

Monty gulped. “Yeah, uh—yeah, sure. Water would be great, if you have any?”

“Gee, Monty, I don’t know,” Winston said, and fuck, Monty couldn’t get over how his name sounded coming from his mouth. “Water’s pretty hard to come by.”

Monty blinked.

“I was just making a joke,” Winston said, heading to the mini-fridge next to his closet and tossing Monty a bottle.

“Thanks,” he said, and before he knew it he’d chugged the bottle down. Either he was really dehydrated, or hella nervous, and Monty really didn’t know which one.

“I never congratulated you for the game,” Winston said suddenly. “Shit, I—” he chuckled. “Well, _congratulations._ ”

He smiled at Monty again, that fucking insanely beautiful smile that brought every feeling into Monty’s chest.

He distracted himself by going to the trash can to dispose of the bottle.

Winston leaned over suddenly to stop him. “Oh, actually, you can recycle tha—” he stuttered when his hand brushed against Monty’s.

Monty looked up at him, and Winston blinked. For a moment he really thought he’d turn tail and walk right out through the sliding doors and never turn back. But then the right side of Winston’s lip tugged upwards in an awkward smile, and Monty knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He kindly told the looming voice in his head to go fuck itself and gripped Winston’s wrist gently, pulling him towards his chest.

The bottle cluttered to the floor and then he was kissing Winston again. It felt so natural, like he was doing something meant for him. Like _this_ was meant for him. Winston tasted like the summer breeze and, again, something fruity, but not alcohol this time. He wasn’t blind, either – he could see that the bruises on Winston’s face still hadn’t faded, and he brought a hand up to run his fingers across his cheek. Winston seemed to sense Monty’s guilt, and shot him a small smile, devoid of judgment. Monty felt a whisper of sadness breath in his chest, but then Winston leaned in to kiss him again, coaxing him out of his guilt.

He didn’t realize how much he’d wanted to do this again until he felt himself overcome by a hunger for more. But Winston was one step ahead of him. He nipped at Monty’s bottom lip, and Monty responded by bringing both his hands up to cup the back of Winston’s head, just like he had the night they met. He felt Winston’s hands on his Liberty jacket, and he shrugged it off without breaking the kiss. He tugged at Winston’s jacket, hesitantly at first,

“It’s okay,” Winston whispered, nodding as he let Monty help him out of it.

Monty maneuvered him back towards the bed, but he wasn’t expecting it when Winston pulled him so they both landed on the bed in a chuckling heap.

“You always wear flannel?” Winston asked as Monty crashed their lips together again. Fuck, he really couldn’t get enough of this guy.

“You complaining or somethin’?” he mumbled, pressing his body against Winston’s and drawing a soft moan out of him.

Winston shook his head.

“I think it’s hot,” he said, biting his lip.

Monty smirked, gaining in confidence slowly, and flipped them so he was on top. He helped Winston out of his shirt and straddled his hips, but hesitated for a moment when he remembered the last time he was positioned on top of Winston, his fists raining down on his face.

“So, about me forgetting to congratulate you for the game,” Winston said, distracting him from his thoughts. “Maybe I can make it up to you.”

“Yeah?” Monty asked, cocking his head. “How, exactly?”

“Well, first, I can get you out of _this,_ ” he said slowly, removing Monty’s flannel, “And you can take this _off,_ ” he continued, gesturing at Monty’s shirt.

“Yeah?” Monty grinned, tugging his shirt off. “And then?”

“Then you can do whatever you want,” Winston said simply, looking up at him through eyes blown with mischief and lust.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Monty breathed, bringing Winston up to kiss him again. As he held him he could feel Winston’s hardness against his thigh. In a flurry of movement they helped each other out of their jeans, and their boxers followed swiftly.

“ _Mother fuck,_ ” Monty groaned again, breaking their kiss when their cocks slid against each-other. He had next to no idea what he was doing, but he let Winston’s presence steady him.

Winston threw his head back against the pillows and panted, clenching his eyes shut. His hair was splayed across his forehead in every direction, but he still looked perfect.

“Do you… Do you want to fuck me?” Winston asked, his eyes still closed.

Monty froze for a second, hesitation overcoming him. He’d never done anything like this before with a guy, let alone have the nerve to _fuck_ a guy. But he wanted to. Fuck, he really wanted to.

He realized his silence had stretched on a second too long when Winston opened his eyes and looked at him.

“Sorry, we don’t have to—”

“No, yeah, I want to,” he said, trying to sound confident. No way in hell he was telling Winston he had no idea what he was doing. How hard could it be?

Winston looked at him for another moment before nodding. “Okay. Lube and condoms are in the drawer.”

Monty nodded, and once he’d lubed his fingers up, he leaned down to resume their kiss as his fingers searched for Winston’s hole.

Fuck, he couldn’t not tell him. He’d be able to lie if it were anyone else. But not now. Not to him.

“You… you need to tell me if it hurts. I don’t… you need to tell me if you’re good,” he said, hoping that would clue Winston into his inexperience enough without him having to actually admit it.

He should’ve known Winston wouldn’t judge him. The fact that that was becoming something he trusted Winston not to do scared the shit out of him.

“Of course,” Winston said, brow furrowing in that way that let Monty know he was serious. He leaned up and captured Monty’s lips in a gentle kiss.

Monty took that opportunity to press one finger into his warmth, his thumb circling his rim gently. Once his finger was in up to the knuckle, he paused.

Winston was panting into the kiss, but he nodded in encouragement when Monty began pumping his finger in and out of him slowly. He added a second finger, then began to scissor Winston open. He repositioned them so that Winston’s legs were hooked around his back.

On one particular thrust of his fingers, Winston broke their kiss and thrashed his head to the side, biting his lip hard and letting out a muffled moan. Monty blinked and slowly repeated what he’d done, drawing another moan out of Winston. Encouraged, Monty began fingering the little bundle of nerves, reveling in the effect his movements had on Winston.

He leaned in to kiss him again and was surprised when Winston kissed back hungrily. Winston pulled Monty down and brought his hand to their cocks, sliding them together. Monty bit back what would have most certainly been an embarrassing whine.

Winston let out another yelp-turned-moan when Monty continued fingering him, faster now.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m ready. M-Monty I’m ready.”

Monty stilled his hand then, and pulled out. He reached for the condom and tried to stop his hands from shaking as he rolled it onto his hard cock. When he pressed his head to Winston’s entrance, he looked back at him for confirmation, and Winston grinned like daybreak before pulling him into another kiss.

Monty pushed in slowly, and felt Winston digging his nails into his arms, reminding him of the grip he’d had on his flannel shirt when they’d first kissed in that bedroom two weeks ago.

Winston gasped and his eyes rolled up to stare at the ceiling as Monty positioned himself in all the way. He stilled himself, giving Winston time to adjust. It felt surreal on the one hand, but on the other, he knew that it felt better than anything he’d ever known before.

When Winston started moving back up against him, Monty pulled out slowly and slammed back in, not roughly, but not gently either. He stuttered a little bit—he hadn’t meant to go too hard.

“No, no, keep going,” Winston whispered. “That’s good.”

Monty nodded and guided himself back in again until they found a good rhythm. He let his head drop, supporting himself with one hand as the other fisted Winston’s hair. Winston was pressing kisses onto his neck.

“That all you got?” Winston panted between groans.

A smirk spread across Monty’s face. The fucking cheek.

Monty repositioned himself again so he could go in deeper. He slammed his hips into Winston, who let out a moan that he muffled with his hand. He was really glad Winston’s parents were gone all weekend. He set a challenging pace, chasing his orgasm. Winston was clearly enjoying it, his eyes shut tight and his head thrown back.

He adjusted his angle slightly and Winston gasped, letting out a whine. He must’ve hit his prostate. Monty didn’t let him rest this time, picking up the pace.

“ _Shit_ ,” Winston whispered softly, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. Monty worried vaguely that he might reopen the cut he’d given him at the party.

He felt heat pool in his belly, but he wanted Winston to cum first. He saw Winston reach down and palm at his dick, but Monty batted his hand away and pinned it next to his head. He wanted to do this. He used his free hand to jerk Winston off in time with his thrusts.

Winston had given up with biting his lip and was letting out soft moans now, but somehow he still looked so fucking innocent even splayed out on the bed moving in time with Monty’s thrusts. Monty felt Winston clench around his cock and let out a sudden groan, trying to bury it into Winston’s shoulder.

“I’m going to cum,” Winston whispered softly. Monty drew back then to look at him. His eyes were closed, but as Monty slammed back in and rolled his lips, Winston’s eyes fluttered open and Monty had never seen anything more beautiful.

Monty tugged at Winston’s cock again and then Winston was cumming, Monty’s name escaping his lips almost inaudibly. As Winston rode out his orgasm, Monty’s hips stuttered as he neared his own release. Winston began writhing underneath him, oversensitivity taking over.

Monty groaned when he came, his hips stuttering to a halt.

“Fuck, Winston,” he whispered, so softly he wasn’t sure Winston heard it.

He rolled onto his back. “Holy shit,” he breathed.

Beside him, Winston was still coming down from his high as well, and for a few minutes they just lay there panting.

Monty let out an inadvertent yawn and he saw Winston reposition himself so he was facing him.

“I could give you a ride somewhere, if you don’t want to Uber,” he said.

Monty blinked, suddenly dragged out of his reverie. Yeah, he hadn’t thought about the aftermath of this quite so much.

“You trying to kick me out?” he said. He meant it as a joke, but he knew as the words left his mouth that it was anything but.

Monty knew he _should_ leave, but he’d done a lot of things that night already that he knew he shouldn’t do, so what was one more?

“No, I just figured you’d want to go.”

Monty frowned. Did Winston think Monty just came there for sex? Considering this, Monty knew it made sense. He’d hooked up with countless girls and peaced out immediately after the deed was done. He’d never felt guilty about it. He’d had no reason to.

“Well, maybe,” he said, turning over to face Winston. “I want to stay and do that again.”

“Yeah?” Winston asked, eyes brightening. “Okay.”

Maybe it was because he felt too happy, and he was never one to trust happiness. Or maybe it was because he wanted, _needed,_ to get ahead of that stupid voice in his head.

Maybe that’s why his next words were: “I’m not… fucking gay.” 

Winston looked at him for another moment, his expression unchanged.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Cool.”

Fuck, Monty didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve any of this—

“You can be whatever you want to be.”

That nearly broke him, nearly forced him out the bed and back into the night, away from this house, this guy, this happiness he knew couldn’t last. Not for him.

“No, I can’t.”

***

They ended up having sex two more times, once on the bed again, and the third time on the floor, after Winston had shown him his photo wall. Monty was grateful that the carpet made it more comfortable, but he was paranoid that he’d gotten rug burn all over his back.

Now they were lying on Winston’s bed, at opposite ends, not touching. Monty didn’t think he could do that yet. He’d just had more sex with a guy in one night than he ever imagined having in his lifetime, and the part of him that wanted to appease his father felt ashamed at himself.

“I’m sorry, by the way… I know I said it already but I really am,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling. “’Bout beating you up at that party.”

“I know,” Winston said, and even in the dark Monty could tell he was smiling. “It’s okay. I’m happy you’re here.”

_Me too,_ he wanted to say. But he didn’t.

Monty barely slept a wink that night. He stayed awake, listening to Winston’s slow breathing. He glanced over at Winston what must have been more than a hundred times in the span of a nighttime, seeing the moonlight stream in through the window and play across the plains of Winston’s face. He looked so peaceful. It worried Monty, for peace was not something he was known to keep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I usually through periods where I just write a ton, then I go dormant for God knows how long before picking it up again, so knowing this I just tend to take advantage of my writing bursts when they arrive. But I'm trying to do better in terms of long-term consistency 'cause I do really like writing this story and I want to see it to the end. Mostly 'cause I really love these two :)

Monty woke up with a start and instantly squinted against the bright morning light streaming in through the unshuttered blinds.

He relaxed when he saw Winston still sleeping next to him. His face was turned away from him, and his limbs were stretched in every direction. The blanket was around his midriff, and Monty pulled it up gently, careful not to wake him.

He got out of bed and found himself looking at Winston’s photo wall again. Framed black and white photos were arranged artfully across the entire span of the white wall; mostly photos of nature, of landscapes, mountains, lakes, birds. But there were a few of Winston’s parents, who looked like carbon copies of him. A few of Hillcrest students, parties, football games… And then there was Monty’s favorite picture, one of Winston himself – a selfie of him smiling bigger than ever in front of the Golden Gate bridge, a little blurry, like he was walking when he’d taken it.

After a few more minutes of deliberation, Monty pulled his shirt on and made his way into the bathroom. He scoffed in disbelief when he saw a bathtub as big as his car and two sinks. Why the fuck did one guy need two sinks?

Monty looked at himself in the mirror, and maybe it was because he was so used to staring back at hungover versions of himself in bathroom mirrors that weren’t his own, but he thought he looked pretty well-slept. He splashed water onto his face and steadied himself against the sink. He wasn’t hungover, but he still felt like his head was up in the clouds. Winston had mentioned that night that he could use any of the new toothbrushes in the cabinet, so he fished one out and brushed his teeth lazily.

When he returned to the bedroom, Winston was gone. Monty pulled on his jeans, grabbed his Liberty jacket, and left the room. He slowly and made his way towards the sound of clinking, which led him to the kitchen. If you could even call Winston’s kitchen a kitchen. Hell, it was basically a house in itself.

“Hey,” Winston said, his head popping up from under the island. He was kneeling down at the fridge, pulling out a few things. He looked happy to see him, and though his hair was all over the place, it almost suited him.

“Uh, hey,” Monty said, kicking himself internally for sounding so awkward.

“I’m making coffee, and there’s leftover quiche I made a few days ago, so… help yourself.”

Monty stood silently as Winston put out plates and ran the coffee machine. When Monty bit into his slice of quiche, he frowned.

“Shit, you made this?”

Winston shrugged. “Yeah, my mom taught me. Only thing I know how to make. We ran out of spinach, though, so this is kinda just cheese.”

Monty let out a chuckle.

“S’good,” he mumbled.

“Shit, I didn’t even ask—do you drink coffee?”

Monty shrugged. “Yeah,” he lied.

“Okay.”

Once the coffee machine had done its thing, Winston hopped up. “I need to go to the bathroom. Can you fix me a cup, no sugar, just milk? And help yourself to the syrups, if you want any.”

When Winston had left, Monty looked at the coffee syrups lined up on the counter, wondering which one would make him magically enjoy the cup of coffee. There had to be a dozen flavors there. He ultimately decided against it and just poured extra almond milk into his coffee for good measure.

A moment later, just as he was settling back into his quiche, he had the living shit scared out of him when a furry bundle leaped onto the counter in front of him.

“Fuck!” he gasped, seeing a black cat with white paws walk across the kitchen island. Straight for Winston’s breakfast. Monty moved forward and awkwardly tried to shoo the cat off the counter, but it wasn’t budging an inch.

“Shit, okay,” he mumbled, maneuvering the cat in his arms and feeling its claws dig in through his shirt. He let it down gently on the floor and it meowed up at him in protest.

“Sorry, aite?” he said, holding his hands up.

“Louie!”

Monty saw the cat make a dash towards Winston, meowing like crazy now.

“Don’t bother Monty,” he said, tsking. There it was again, his name coming out of Winston’s mouth. Fuck.

“Okay, okay!” Winston laughed when Louie pawed as his feet. “Breakfast time for you too, bud.”

“Didn’t know you had a cat,” Monty said as Winston went to feed Louie while he sat back down at the kitchen island.

Winston chuckled as he picked up his coffee cup. “You don’t know _that_ much about me.”

Fair point.

“Did you—did you put hazelnut in my coffee?” Winston asked suddenly.

Monty bit the inside of his lip. Shit, maybe it was too obvious.

“Uh, yeah,” he said.

“It’s my favorite,” he said, looking at him curiously, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Huh…” he said, trying to hide a smile. “Lucky guess?”

Winston looked delightfully confused, and Monty had to stop himself from staring.

Shit. Was this what flirting felt like? Monty had never done it—never had to. Not deliberately, at least. Girls normally came to him, whether or not he wanted them to. He’d never felt the need to impress anyone. He must’ve distracted himself, because when he took a sip of his coffee, he forgot to make it look like he actually _liked_ coffee.

Winston let out something between a laugh and a giggle.

“You didn’t have to lie,” he chuckled, opening the fridge. “So what do you drink? Gatorade? Red bull? Protein shakes?”

“You just listed every stereotypical sports drink,” Monty scoffed, shaking his head.

“Well, I don’t know what you athlete hunks drink to keep in shape,” Winston said, ducking out of view as he knelt down next to the open fridge.

Monty laughed. “You think I’m a hunk?”

A pause. Monty was smiling despite himself.

“Shut up,” Winston said, his face invisible to Monty as he reached into the fridge. He couldn’t see him, but he could hear the grin on his face.

He was surprised at how relaxed he was, and how foreign it felt to connect with someone outside of Charlie, Scott, and Diego—the usual suspects. He never spoke to anyone like this outside of his friends. He was used to being an ass all the time; it was like second nature.

“So, the offer’s still open for me to drive you somewhere,” Winston said slowly, gulping his coffee down at an impressive rate.

And then, unexpectedly, the shoe dropped and that voice in the back of his mind was back, taunting him. Good fucking morning to you too, Monty thought.

“Uh, nah, I can Uber,” he said instantly, balking.

Winston blinked, like he was startled. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“I should, uh… probably get going,” he said, glancing at his phone. It was already 11am. He had to get home before his father woke up, and before Estela wondered where he was.

“Okay,” Winston said, grabbing his phone and getting up from his stool. “I—”

“I can, uh, show myself out,” Monty said, suddenly feeling his fight or flight response spiking. “Thanks for… breakfast.”

_Breakfast?_

Winston blinked again.

“Right.”

As Monty turned to leave, something in his heart clenched the same way it did when Bryce was pulling him back off of Winston’s body at that party. But it almost didn’t matter; his fight to escape was still stronger than ever. He risked a glance back at Winston, and his hazel eyes were still steady, still without judgment after everything Monty had done, everything he was still doing. But for the first time, Winston broke their eye contact, and Monty found himself chasing his gaze.

“Could I get your number?” Monty asked, swallowing thickly.

Winston’s eyes lit up ever so slightly, and his lips tugged upward in a smile.

“’Course,” he said, biting his lip.

After moving back towards each-other to exchange numbers, Monty decided to ride the burst of courage while he had it. He brought a hand up to Winston’s shoulder and leaned in to kiss him goodbye.

Winston smiled against his lips.

“See ya,” he said, pulling away and leaving without another glance back. He jogged out of the gate and made it three blocks before he finally forced himself to call the Uber. He didn’t know what he felt like he needed to walk off, but if he hadn’t seen a missed call from Estela, he could have easily walked the entire way home.

***

It had been three days since he’d seen Winston, and he still hadn’t dared to text him. He found himself checking his phone an embarrassing number of times to see if Winston had texted him, which would make things much easier. He could excuse himself for responding to a text, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to be the one to initiate a conversation.

On the third day, he’d started to really convince himself that it had been a one-time thing. Maybe Winston thought so to. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t texting. To be fair, Monty had 100% been an ass to Winston when they first met, and had fled his house faster than a bat out of hell the morning after he’d stayed over. The ball was definitely in Monty’s court.

It took the high of a really good after-school practice to help him bite his own pride and finally shoot Winston a text.

**Monty:** Hey

Winston responded almost instantly.

**Winston:** Hey stranger :)

Monty put his phone down immediately and locked it. Fuck.

A good few minutes later, he picked his phone back up, surprised by how hard he was holding on to it.

**Monty:** How are you?

Yeah, short, sweet messages would do the trick. Just ease yourself into it, Monty thought to himself.

**Winston:** Pretty good, semester off to a rough start but what’s new. You?

**Monty:** Not the studious type? Thought you Hillcrest kids were nerds

Maybe that was too much.

**Winston:** I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. Lifelong C student here

**Monty:** Welcome to the club

**Winston:** Honored

**Winston:** You left your flannel here btw

Winston accompanied this text with a picture of Monty’s black and white flannel shirt folded up neatly on a chair.

Yeah, Monty had realized it the minute he’d gotten back from Winston’s house, but he’d psyched himself out of texting Winston that night for it. It would have required him to come back and get it, after all.

**Winston:** You’ll just have to get it the next time you’re around

Monty paused, twiddling his thumbs. Fuck. Next time? The thought scared him and thrilled him in equal parts.

**Monty:** Guess so

The next day, Winston texted him another picture, this time of a sunrise on the horizon. In the foreground was a muddy swamp that looked at least a foot deep.

**Winston:** Volunteering at the animal shelter but made the crucial mistake of not getting coffee first. 

**Monty:** Wtf?

**Winston:** Looks good on college apps, shut up

**Monty:** I’m not the one in a swamp at the ass crack of dawn

**Winston:** Not in a swamp, _beside_ a swamp

Winston sent him a few more artful pictures of the sunrise, and Monty found himself studying every single one. Winston really did have an eye for landscapes.

It turns out Winston liked sending him pictures more than actually texting, and Monty found that he didn’t mind. Winston sent him random pictures of his meals, of Louie, of his math homework. It was like his thoughts came in photos and Monty wanted to read each one.

They started texting more frequently, which eventually turned into every day. Monty found himself looking forward to talking to him, to seeing what picture he’d send next. He learned that Winston hated school, was a bit of a mess when it came to his studies, but found a lot of happiness in little things, like the flock of birds he photographed outside his window, like the chocolate brownies his mother brought home from his favorite bakery one afternoon as a surprise. Monty found himself wondering if he was one of the small things Winston found happiness in too.

_Too? What the fuck do you mean “too”?_

Yeah, that annoying voice still hadn’t left him.

Monty had started to become more conscious of when he was texting Winston, because Charlie, the observant fuck, had given him a few weird looks when Monty had pulled his phone out a little too quickly after it buzzed with a text. He played it off at the time, but he knew he had to be more careful. 

***

Monty stifled a yawn as he left history class. There was only so much faking he could do, and with a teacher who spoke like the human equivalent of a trombone, staying awake during class was no mean feat. As he rounded the corner, he saw Luke Holliday push Tyler up against his locker, shouting expletives at him.

“You better fucking watch it, Down,” he was sneering, his fists up in the collar of Tyler’s shirt.

Monty grinned, like second nature, and sauntered over. Tyler was cowering, as usual. Monty wondered what he’d done to piss Luke off this time.

“Aww, you scared, Ty-Ty?” Monty asked, his voice sickly sweet and menacing at the same time. Taunting Tyler was one of his favorite past-times. He didn’t even know why he did it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tyler was saying.

“The fucker conveniently reminded Mrs. Bradley about the homework she assigned us even when she’d _clearly_ forgotten,” Luke scoffed. “Earned me a fucking detention.”

Luke banged Tyler up against his locker again, and Tyler shut his eyes.

Monty scoffed. “You fucking know better, don’t you Ty?”

He was about to say something insulting when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, jolting him out of his thoughts. He knew it was Winston, responding to the text he’d just sent him at the end of class.

Monty paused for a moment, palming at his pocket. His eyes strayed to the camera bag Tyler was carrying, and glancing back at the fury on Luke’s face, his hands still in Tyler’s shirt, Monty suddenly felt… wrong.

He turned around and started walking away, ignoring Luke calling his name.

***

It was Friday, and Monty was emptying his locker of textbooks to bring home for the weekend. Charlie and Scott had left for practice already.

**Winston:** Ugh, distract me from algebra. What are you up to?

Winston followed this with a selfie of him looking bored, sitting at what looked like his desk based on the angle, with a pencil in his hands. His face was pulled into an adorable scowl.

**Monty:** Heading to practice.

**Winston:** How’s the team?

**Monty:** Pretty good, they’re making the captain announcement today.

**Winston:** Oh! Are you in the running?

**Monty:** Yeah.

**Winston:** Good luck :) 

***

Fucking fuck. Fucking Zach fucking Dempsey.

Monty was _seething._ He felt Charlie and Diego’s eyes on him, but he had to look straight ahead if he was going to keep it together. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted the captaincy until Coach Kerba fucking gave it to Zach.

Once most of the team had left the locker room, Monty walked over to Coach Kerba, still trying to control his breathing.

“It’s not fucking fair,” he said. “I got the most votes.”

“You know it’s more than just the votes,” Coach Kerba said, looking genuinely sympathetic. Monty _did_ know this, but he gave no shits. He was _pissed._ The team was his fucking life. He had nothing else—nothing else to fucking live for but this. Zach pranced around living his life with no care in the world—a rich family, a happy home life, a fucking lineup of scholarships waiting at his feet. He had it made.

“Monty, listen…” Coach started again, but Monty was already leaving. He had to get the fuck out of there.

He walked out toward the bleachers, thanking God they were empty. He felt like he needed to punch something. He thought briefly about heading over to City Gym and pummeling a punching bag, but Tony Padilla was usually over on Fridays and he wanted to avoid an _actual_ fight.

As he fished his phone out of his pocket, he found himself opening his text chat with Winston. Before he could think about it, he was shooting him a text.

**Monty:** What are you up to?

**Winston:** Still algebra, no progress

**Winston:** Did they announce it??

**Monty:** Yeah

**Monty:** Didn’t get it

**Winston:** Shit, you ok?

Monty paused for a moment. His head still felt like it was spinning with rage. With hurt. With way too much for him to handle.

**Monty:** Not really

Monty shoved his phone back in his pocket, and almost immediately it began to ring. He looked to see who was calling, fully expecting it to be Charlie, and did a double take.

_Winston Williams calling…_

Shit. Before he knew it, he’d waited too long and the call dropped. He immediately unlocked his phone and, against all instincts, called back.

“Hey,” Winston answered on the first ring.

“Hey,” Monty said, clearing his throat when he heard how hoarse he sounded. “Sorry I, uh… missed your call.”

“No, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk… if… if there are other people around… I get it, I just,” Winston paused, his breathing muffled, almost. “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to see how you were.”

“Yeah,” Monty said, looking around to make sure no one was there, even though no one would know he was talking to a Hillcrest boy he’d been fucking only last weekend. He could never be too careful, as far as he was concerned. “I’m just… I dunno.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t make captain,” Winston said slowly.

“It’s fine,” Monty said. He knew he wasn’t helping the conversation along too much, but he felt his heartbeat steadying just knowing that Winston was on the other end of the line.

_Fuck_ , he thought, _There must be something wrong with me_.

He clenched his eyes shut, tight, and bit his lip. He felt so fucking conflicted. A part of him _wanted_ this so badly, needed the feeling that Winston gave him… but the other part of him, the part he’d lived with for the past 17 years of his life, was telling him _no. fucking. way._

Suddenly he heard a muffled meow.

“Shit, Louie!” Winston groaned. “Sorry, he just jumped up on me,” he added with a giggle.

Though his chest still felt constricted, Monty chuckled in spite of himself.

“Do you, um… want to hang out again this weekend?” Winston asked.

Monty let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Fuck. He was fucked. There was no denying it anymore.

“Yeah, that’d be cool.”

He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard movement beside him. Before he knew it, he’d hung up on Winston and his phone was back in his pocket.

Coach Kerba was coming up to sit next to him on the bleachers. Monty eyed him warily, but he knew his coach could see that he’d calmed down at least a little bit.

“You know, I’ve always believed in you,” Coach Kerba said softly, in that wise voice of his that—despite how much Monty would joke about it behind closed doors—he always respected. “I always tell you that you’re the smartest running back I’ve ever coached, and I’m not a liar.”

“I know.”

“You might not think this about yourself, but you’re a good leader. A fair one, when you try,” he continued.

Monty stayed silent, but he was listening, albeit somewhat begrudgingly.

“I didn’t give the captaincy to Zach because you didn’t deserve it,” Coach Kerba said, finally turning to the side to face Monty. “You’re an integral part of this team… which is why I’m giving you the vice-captain spot.”

Monty blinked, and he must have looked genuinely confused because Coach Kerba chuckled, patting him on the back.

“You didn’t stick around long enough for me to tell you,” he joked.

_Shit,_ Monty thought.

“That is, of course, if you accept the position,” Coach continued, giving him a tight smile.

Okay, he was still bitter about not making captain, but, well, if Coach wanted a vice who’d raise Zach’s game and whip him into shape if he fucked up, he sure as shit could be the guy.

“Yeah, guess that’s fine.”

***

**Monty:** Sorry I hung up on you

This was the second time he found himself apologizing to someone who wasn’t his father or Charlie in the span of a week. It felt weird, but not

**Monty:** Coach came looking for me

Monty waited for a response, did a few homework questions, and before he knew it, an hour had passed. Winston hadn’t ever taken this long to respond. He wondered if he’d hurt his feelings. It was about half an hour later when Monty’s phone finally buzzed.

**Winston:** Hey sorry! I was helping my mom out in the kitchen and left my phone on charge.

**Winston:** And it’s fine, I get it

Monty felt like he had to give a little here.

**Monty:** I am down to hang out this weekend, if you still are

**Winston:** Yeah :)

**Winston:** Also… I wanted to text you this before but figured I’d wait ‘til you got home.

The next thing that popped up on Monty’s phone was a picture of Louie stretched out, fast asleep, on his flannel shirt. And then another, and another. The third one was of Winston lying back on his bed, Louie curled up in the crook of his neck.

**Winston:** So that happened… and I couldn’t get all the cat hairs out so I put it in the wash. Hope that’s okay

**Monty:** Yeah, ‘course. Hope he had a nice nap lmao

**Winston:** He’s the king of naps

**Winston:** Oh and I got some photos developed today from the friendly against Liberty

The next photo he sent was a black and white one, and Monty had to do a double take. It had been taken at the game, at halftime. The lights around the football field framed the picture nicely, and in the foreground he could see Charlie sitting down on the bench, icing his knee. But the lens’ focus was on Monty, who was kneeling down to talk to Charlie. His face looked intense and focused, but laced with concern for his quarterback.

Winston must’ve taken it minutes before they’d locked eyes with each-other on the sidelines.

Fuck, it was weird seeing himself from a different lens—literally.

**Winston:** I like that picture of you :)

Monty paused a moment as a thought came to him. Though Winston had sent him tons of selfies by now, Monty had never reciprocated. He’d never had the guts to. Before he could talk himself out of it, he made a split-second decision and opened the camera on his phone. He felt like a fish out of water as he positioned his phone in front of him and tried to look, you know, _not_ foolish. 

Without taking another breath, he steeled himself and shot Winston another text.

**Monty:** You want another?

He accompanied the text with the picture he took of himself—one he couldn’t even look at again lest he psych himself out— and he almost threw his phone onto his bed immediately after hitting the send button. He heard it buzz, and screamed internally for being such a fucking pussy. God, what the fuck was wrong with him. What the actual fuck.

When he finally built the nerve to look at his phone again, he saw Winston’s response.

**Winston:** Fuck. You look perfect :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this wasn't super plot-heavy! I just thought it was important to show how their relationship develops, and all those "in-between" moments I feel like we missed out on in the show. 
> 
> I have the next few chapters mapped out and there's lots that will be happening around the corner. It's only a matter of time before that little evil voice in Monty's head gets the better of him...
> 
> Got a busy week but hoping the next update will be this weekend.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this was a hard chapter to write. I kind of struggled with it, but hopefully it came out okay. Things couldn't stay perfect forever, right?
> 
> Warning for violence (physical abuse) and offensive language.

Monty found himself at Winston’s gate, getting more and more nervous as the seconds passed that someone would see him and wonder why he was waiting outside a rich kid’s house on the wrong side of town. He kept his head down, wishing he’d worn a hoodie instead of his Liberty jacket, which stood out like a sore thumb.

To be fair, it took Winston less than a minute to see his text and buzz him in. Monty knew Winston’s parents were out, but he still bypassed the front door and came around back. He knocked gently at the glass, seeing Winston sitting at his desk inside.

“Hey!” Winston said, letting him in. It was much warmer in Winston’s room than it had been the previous weekend, and Monty noticed that there was a gas fireplace turned on next to Winston’s desk. How had he not noticed that before?

“The cover was on it over the summer,” Winston answered the question his face must have been asking. “But it’s kinda chilly tonight, so I figured I’d break it in for the season…”

“Yeah,” Monty chuckled, still getting used to the fact that Winston was filthy rich. “S’nice.”

The TV mounted on the wall across from Winston’s bed was on, but the screen was paused on what looked like a James Bond movie.

“Sorry, I was just—”

“Skyfall?” Monty asked.

“Yeah,” Winston said, looking embarrassed. He walked over to his mini fridge and Monty followed. He snagged a Gatorade and Winston stuck a straw through a capri sun. Monty wondered if that was what he’d tasted like the last time they kissed.

After a few minutes of not-uncomfortable silence, Winston spoke up.

“So… I know I said it before, and we don’t have to talk about it, but I really am sorry that you didn’t make captain and all,” Winston said as they settled on his bed, Winston with his legs crossed and Monty leaning against the headboard.

“About that… I, uh, sorta made vice-captain?” Monty said, tilting his head.

Winston’s eyes lit up. It felt weird, having someone actually appreciate something he’d accomplished. It was foreign to him. His dad couldn’t give a shit about high school sports, and regularly mocked Monty for spending so much time with the “boys.”

“Shit, that’s awesome!” Winston was saying, and it was worth it all over again when his face split into a smile. Monty always found himself associating Winston’s smile with daybreak—with light spreading on a horizon—and every time he thought about how stupid it sounded, he only had to think about his smile to know it was true.

“Yeah,” Monty said. “Still not captain, but, yeah.”

“I mean, that means you can show up your captain every game so your coach knows he made the wrong choice,” Winston chuckled.

Monty blinked.

“I… yeah, exactly what I was thinking,” he said, and Winston smirked at him.

“So, when does the season start?”

Monty found himself responding to Winston’s questions with more and more confidence, as he told Winston about their busy season schedule, his concern for Charlie’s latest injury, his frustration at not winning the final against Liberty last season. He hadn’t talked this much in what felt like years. And Winston just nodded as he sipped his capri sun, asking observant questions from time to time, but mostly he just listened like he actually cared. Like he was genuinely interested in what Monty—Montgomery _de la Cruz,_ resident good-for-nothing meathead—had to say.

When Monty finished his Gatorade, he aimed at the trash can before remembering.

“Oh, right, yeah, just put them over there and I can rinse them out for recycling later,” Winston said, getting up off the bed. He grabbed his TV remote and shut it off.

“Why’d you turn it off?”

“I didn’t figure you’d want to watch Skyfall,” Winston chuckled.

Monty scoffed, laying back on the bed. “What, you think I’m just here for sex?”

He’d meant it as a joke. He really had. But as soon as he said it, he knew he shouldn’t have. Winston didn’t answer immediately. Didn’t answer at all. Silence stretched in the space between them, and Monty didn’t want to move from where he was, staring at the ceiling.

Fuck.

He _was_ just there for sex, right? 

_Fuck._

After a few more painfully long seconds, Monty let out a breath before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He looked straight ahead, and decided he just needed to change the subject before he vomited on Winston’s floor.

“So, you adding any more pictures to the wall?”

When he finally dared to look back at Winston, his face was expressionless. Monty’s heart pounded in his chest for a good ten seconds before Winston nodded, clearing his throat.

“That’s the plan.”

The silence stretched again, and Monty found himself begging for respite.

“Um, so something I didn’t tell you last time…” Winston started, and he could have kissed him just for saving Monty from having to say anything. “…Is that there’s a photo behind each of these photos.”

He took the picture of his parents off the wall and unfastened the back of the frame. He pulled out a photo that had been placed behind the photo that was on display. He showed it to Monty, and it was another picture of his parents, taken in the same place, but this time they were pulling funny faces—his mother looked like she was in the process of bringing his father in for a huge hug.

Monty didn’t say anything at first, and he was witness to Winston’s unwavering patience as he just smiled softly and returned the picture back into its frame.

“Why’d you do that?” Monty asked finally. “Why not frame both and put them both up?”

Winston shrugged. “I dunno. I guess there’s something nice about looking at a picture and knowing there’s more to it. That there’s something behind it, figuratively _and_ literally? I don’t know… the pictures you don’t see are the ones just for me. You know? Everyone else sees this normal picture of my parents, but I know that behind that picture are two goofballs who look like the picture behind it.”

“It sounds cheesy—” he started again.

“No!” Monty said, surprisingly himself by how quickly he objected. “It’s cool. I… I like that. There’s more to everything than meets the eye?”

Winston smiled. “Okay, speaking of cheesy.”

Monty picked up Winston’s pillow and threw it at him playfully. He did that to Charlie all the time, and it felt appropriate now. He wasn’t expecting Winston to grab the pillow up off the floor and hit him back with it. Monty scoffed, grabbed one of the bigger pillows up at the head of the bed and went after him until he had Winston pinned under him on the bed. Giggles were streaming out of Winston’s mouth, and Monty loved the sound of it.

He leaned down to capture Winston’s mouth in a kiss, and Winston reciprocated eagerly.

***

The next morning, Monty woke up and found himself alone on the bed. He searched for Winston in the bathroom, finding it empty, then tentatively poked his head out of the bedroom. The house was silent. He wasn’t sure where Winston’s parents were, but he wasn’t about to risk of bumping into them in the house. After waiting a few more minutes, Monty grabbed his phone.

 **Monty:** Hey, where are you?

 **Winston:** Sorry, I had some errands to run.

Monty paused, frowning. Winston didn’t seem like the type to run errands at—he checked his phone—8am in the morning.

 **Winston:** My parents aren’t home until tonight. Feel free to help yourself to anything in the fridge, and you can show yourself out!

He stood there stupidly for a few minutes, not knowing how to feel, before grabbing his Liberty jacket and dipping out the sliding doors and into Winston’s backyard. As he walked to his car, his heart felt like it was dragging in his chest, and it only served to anger him even more. Wasn’t this what he fucking wanted? No strings attached. Just sex. That’s all he could get from this, and he should fucking remember that.

***

That night, he had to physically distract himself—by playing several rounds of Desert Duty—to stop himself from texting Winston. He knew he couldn’t—it would only be admitting to himself that he actually cared, when Winston clearly didn’t.

 **Winston:** You left your flannel here again haha

Fuck. Yeah, he’d been planning to take it with him that morning—honest—but feeling so frazzled with Winston’s texts he’d completely forgotten.

 **Monty:** Sorry :\

 **Winston:** Well… you might have to fight Louie for it next time

The picture that followed was a blurry one of Louie jumping up onto his flannel, which was draped across the back of Winston’s desk chair.

Monty exhaled, feeling some tension leave his body. Winston didn’t seem angry. Maybe they could just keep doing what they were doing. And maybe that was enough.

***

He saw Winston three times the next week, every time at his house. He’d had to sneak in after midnight the last time to avoid Winston’s parents, but they’d both wanted to see each-other and Monty couldn’t deny that Winston biting down on his palm as Monty covered his mouth to muffle his moans so his parents couldn’t hear them fucking was one of the hottest things Monty had ever experienced.

Monty still had a foreboding feeling in the back of his mind that things had been a little different since that night he when he couldn’t deny that he only came to Winston for sex, but Winston—with his patience, with his simple acceptance of who Monty was, with the way his eyes lit up with happiness every time he saw Monty on the other side of the sliding doors—coaxed him gently out of his worries every single time they were together.

On a Friday night a few days later, Monty was preparing to leave for Winston’s when he heard the front door opening. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Estela had left to sleep over at a friend’s house a few minutes earlier, and Monty was supposed to be gone before his father got home.

“Montgomery!”

Monty froze, his veins turning to ice. Fear shot through his body like it did every time he heard his father’s drunk voice. He steeled himself, debating whether to lock his bedroom door or make a run for his car out front. He didn’t have time to decide, because before he knew it his father had kicked his door open and was now staring at him with an evil, lost, drunken smile.

“Dad,” he said, his voice catching. He put his hands out in front of him, breaths coming in hastily.

“What the fuck are you doin’ home?” his father hollered. “Aren’t you usually out by now?”

Monty dodged the first punch, but couldn’t dodge the second. He stumbled when he felt his father’s fist crash into his left eye. He rolled on the floor, missing another punch only by inches, and scrambled to his feet. He saw his opening and bolted out the door, snatched his car keys from the kitchen table, and raced to his car.

When he was parked in his usual spot a few blocks away from Winston’s house, he glanced at himself in his car mirror. His eye was already turning blue. _Fuck._

“What—” Winston started, inhaling sharply when he saw Monty waving at him from the other side of the veranda. “Are you okay?”

Monty tilted his head, trying to play it off like he didn’t know what Winston was referring to. But Winston frowned, raising an eyebrow.

“What happened to your face?” he asked, though his tone wasn’t the accusatory one Monty was used to hearing from the likes of Mrs. Singh and Mr. Porter. He asked it gently, worriedly.

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “Got a bad hit during practice.”

“I thought practice was off today,” Winston asked.

It was. They’d moved practice to Monday because Charlie and a few other team members were out with the flu.

“Yeah, I did some practice drills with Zach and Scott,” he lied.

Winston frowned, and Monty knew he didn’t believe him. He was usually a great liar, but Winston always saw through him. He saw _him._ But then he led Monty into his room and disappeared into the house, returning with an ice pack.

“Here,” he said softly, and Monty let him press the pack gently onto his eye.

“Thank you,” he breathed, feeling Winston’s fingers brush against his face.

***

That weekend was no better. For some reason, his dad wasn’t going out as much as he used to. Which meant he was home more. And no less drunk.

It was a Saturday night, and Monty was getting ready to Uber to Luke’s. He’d made sure Estela had gotten out safely to a sleepover at Samantha’s, and his mother was, as usual, nowhere to be found—probably working late again, like she usually did when his dad came home early. So that just left Monty, trying to steel himself to walk into the living room. He wished he could escape through his window, but after a failed attempt to sneak out in sophomore year resulted in his father catching him, he’d installed bars on the other side of it. Like a fucking jail cell.

With one more exhale, Monty opened his bedroom door. It was as good a time as ever. He kept his head down and made straight for the front door.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Monty turned slowly to see his father on the couch, dressed only in an old dirty t-shirt and boxers, a handle of vodka swaying in his hands.

“Out,” he said.

“ _Where_ the fuck are you going, Montgomery?” he sneered, stumbling to his feet. Monty staggered backwards instinctively.

“Luke’s.”

“Another boy’s?” his father scoffed. “What are you, a fucking faggot? Always fucking around with the boys.”

“He’s my teammate, dad,” Monty said softly. He was so fucking close to the door. If he had his car, he’d be able to make a run for it, but he’d let Estela drive it to Samantha’s. And even when drunk, his father had quite the sprint on him and even Monty didn’t trust himself to outrun him down the street.

“What do you think it looks like when all you do is hang around boys?” his father sneered.

Monty took one step backwards, trying to ease his way to the door. His blood was boiling, and his palms were getting wet.

He should have dodged it. Should have dodged the punch that landed right on his face. He let out a cry, feeling his father’s knuckles pound on the eye that had only just begun healing. His father drove his knee into Monty’s stomach, and Monty grunted.

“Fucking disgusting fag,” his father spat. And just like that, he was stumbling away.

Monty’s fingers grasped uselessly at the floor before he scrambled up and staggered out the door. He walked all the way to the end of the street and called his Uber, biting his lip and willing himself to calm down, and quick.

 _You’re okay,_ he told himself. _You’re fine. This is fine._

***

“De La Cruz!”

Monty put on his best grin as he and Luke pulled into the parking lot of the Hillcrest sports fields. Bryce was waiting for him with his friend from Hillcrest—probably his _only_ friend—Cameron, who, apart from his ice blond hair, looked eerily similar to Bryce in his build and facial expressions.

“Yo, Walker,” he said, sticking his head out of the car window. Bryce smacked him gently across the head. He conveniently made no comment about Monty’s bruised face. He turned a blind eye to it, always. So had Luke, when Monty’d arrived as his house. They were used to seeing Monty’s face fifty shades of blue and red, and no one asked anymore questions.

Except for Charlie, Diego, and Scott. But none of them were here.

Monty and Luke got out of the latter’s car and joined Bryce and Cameron on the sidewalk. They were there to watch a Hillcrest vs. Sacred Heart soccer game, and though it was only September, the weather hadn’t been very kind to Evergreen County that week. Monty regretted not bringing a heavier jacket, but he wasn’t going to be a pussy about it.

He hadn’t originally planned on hanging out with Bryce and Luke that night, but Charlie and Diego were still home sick with the flu and Scott cancelled last minute because his sister had something come up—he’d hinted at a bad breakup. So when Bryce had group texted him and Luke, the only two people he still talked to at Liberty, Luke had persuaded him to join them.

“Let’s go get a bite before the game,” Bryce said. “Food trucks.”

Monty chuckled, wincing slightly at the strain that put on the bruises, still raw on his face. Of course Hillcrest would get fancy food trucks to cater a sports game. It didn’t even compare to the disgusting cafeteria food he’d had to chuck down before and after Liberty games. As they made their way out of the parking lot, Monty glanced around quickly and spotted Winston’s blue Audi parked in the last parking spot, at the very end of the lot barely visible from the school entrance. They had plans to spend the night together—Monty was going to hang around until everyone had left, and Winston was going to drive them. Hence the covert parking spot.

“How you guys been?” Bryce was asking him, smiling that typical easygoing smile of his.

Monty made small talk with Bryce and Luke and Cameron chatted beside them as they approached the side of the building that was now furnished with tables and chairs. The makeshift outdoor dining space—complete with propane heat lamps—was insanely fancy, and Monty couldn’t help but scoff.

As they all sat down at one of the tables close to the soccer pitch, Bryce handed him a flask. Whisky. He hesitated a little bit, thinking he wouldn’t want to be wasted when he met up with Winston, but Bryce prodded him and he downed a few gulps.

Speaking of Winston, he caught a glimpse of him by a food truck, talking with a group of Hillcrest boys. He hair was swept to the side again, and he was still in his purple Hillcrest uniform. Fuck, he looked good. Just when he caught himself staring, Winston looked up and saw him too. Winston’s eyes lit up like they always did, and Monty frowned, looking away immediately.

Too risky. Winston should know that.

“Jesus, what the fuck are they doing here,” Bryce groaned, and Monty followed his gaze.

Oh, fucking perfect. Alex Standall and Zach Dempsey were coming down from the bleachers on the other side of the lot, engrossed in conversation. Monty frowned when he saw them talking to a Hillcrest kid (since when did they hang out with anyone at Hillcrest?), and barely contained his shock when he saw Alex lean in to kiss the stranger on the cheek. They intertwined hands, and Zach said something that made both of them laugh.

When they started walking in their direction, Monty saw Bryce’s face change, and he should have seen it coming. Bryce and Alex had had some falling out recently, since the Hillcrest party where he’d met Winston. Apparently something to do with a huge fight they’d had after they went to trash Bryce’s dad’s house. Whatever it was, Bryce hadn’t elaborated, but he was fucking furious at Alex.

Monty’s should’ve distracted Bryce. But, hell, he couldn’t stop Bryce from doing anything he wanted to do.

“Yo, no one wants to see that shit,” Bryce mumbled softly, chuckling to himself, just as Alex and the Hillcrest stranger passed him.

Zach turned around like a whip, looking _murderous._

“What did you say, Walker?” he asked. Bryce didn’t back down, getting up into Zach’s face.

Monty stood up, instinctively going to protect Bryce.

“I _said,_ no one wants to see that shit,” Bryce said, pointing to Alex and his companion and shrugging like it was the simplest thing in the world to understand.

Zach threw the first punch, hard. Bryce went down onto the table, and landed a stiff uppercut into Zach’s jaw. Monty latched himself onto Zach’s back, trying to rip him off of Bryce. But Zach was far from a pushover.

He felt someone on his back, then, and before he knew it he was being thrown onto the ground. He looked up and saw the Hillcrest stranger staring back at him, Alex standing behind him and looking concerned.

“Hey, I don’t want to fight you,” the stranger said, holding his hands up.

Monty narrowed his eyes, glancing between the stranger and Alex. He wasn’t about to back down from a fucking fight. He wasn’t a fucking coward.

“Faggot,” he said. He’d always called Alex slurs, rolled off his tongue like honey. He knew better, but he did it anyway. “Fucking coward faggot.”

The stranger punched him, hard, and he hit him back. Growing up with his dad, violence came to him naturally; it was built into him like etches into a cliff face. His heart was pounding like a motherfucker. He hadn’t felt rage like this in a while. Not since before Winston. He wanted to stop, he needed to stop but he couldn’t; he felt like he had no control. Monty just let his fists guide him, and as he scrambled on the floor to get leverage, his mind was in overdrive.

Hillcrest students had gathered around them, and it took a good group of them to finally break up the fight.

“Yo, enough, before they fucking call security!” someone called.

Monty felt three pairs of hands on him, and he shrugged them all off as the fight dispersed. He caught Zach’s gaze in the crowd and held it. Zach shook his head, and Monty cocked his jaw upwards. Just ‘cause.

He felt that typical high he did after any fist fight, and Bryce clapped him on the back. They exchanged smiles, nodding like they used to back when they were brothers. They still were. They always would be, with everything they’d been through, everything they’d _done,_ together. Monty was slowly coming to realize that there was no escaping that.

But the air was sucked out of his next breath when he locked eyes with Winston in the crowd. In his adrenaline rush, he’d completely forgotten that he was even there. Fuck.

Monty’s world froze, the way it only did for Winston, who was looking back at him in shock and confusion. He had grown so used to Winston lighting up when they caught each-other’s gaze, so this felt wrong. Monty’s chest clenched, because there was something unsettling that he couldn’t place in Winston’s eyes. Winston had always looked at Monty like he saw _him,_ even that first day when they locked eyes on the balcony and Winston stared him down like he knew, and accepted, everything that Monty was already. Winston was the only person who ever looked at him like that. He had a way of making Monty feel safe, accepted—like he could deserve something other than what his father gave him.

But now, Winston’s gaze was devoid of that recognition. He looked confused and angry, but most of all he looked _hurt,_ and the thought of that made Monty sick. Winston broke their eye contact, but Monty couldn’t look away.

“Are you guys okay?” Monty heard Winston asking Alex and the Hillcrest kid.

But then Bryce was pulling him away, his arm slung around his shoulder.

“Game’s ‘bout to start, let’s get good seats!”

***

Monty decided against texting Winston during the game, knowing he could explain better once they were in his car, once they were back at Winston’s house. He found himself entirely distracted from kick-off to the final whistle, anxiously looking around to see if he could spot him in the crowd. His eyes had scoured the sidelines to see if Winston was covering the game for Yearbook, but he didn’t remember seeing his camera bag on him.

It started raining—only a drizzle—when the game ended. Monty checked the time on his phone. Winston had told him that he’d be waiting in his car, and to wait until at least 9:30 to join him, which was when he anticipated most people to be gone by. So Monty stayed around chatting with the boys, waved Luke off when he left at around 8:30, then Cameron, then finally, a little after nine, Bryce. As he’d expected, Bryce had offered to have him over for more drinks, but he had his excuse ready—that he needed to get home because he had to drive Estela to an early dance class the next day.

After he heard Bryce’s car pull out of the parking lot, Monty got up from the bleachers. He glanced around. Everyone had left. He glanced at the time—it was only 9:12. He decided, finally, to send Winston a text.

 **Monty:** Hey, be there in a sec

Monty broke into a jog as the rain got heavier. Once he rounded the corner into the parking lot, though, he stopped.

Winston’s car was gone, and the parking lot was empty.

Monty blinked, looking around the lot again just to make sure he wasn’t missing the familiar blue Audi. He desperately wanted to know that Winston had just moved his car to a different spot, maybe closer to the exit, and was still there, waiting for him.

He picked up his phone and called Winston, telling himself that had to be the case.

_Hey, it’s Winston, sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message, or not, and I’ll call you back._

He hung up before it could begin recording.

Winston was gone. He’d left him.

It was only moments later when he realized his hand, which was still gripping his phone, was shaking. He thought about texting Winston again, but what the fuck was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to apologize again? For what—for being the asshole he always was? How many times would he have to apologize for that? 

_Fuck._ Fuck that.

As the drizzle broke into full-blown rain, Monty didn’t move from where he was on the sidewalk. His phone buzzed, and he looked down.

It was Charlie.

 **Charlie:** What the fuck, man? This true what Zach told me about the fight you pulled tonight at Hillcrest?

 **Charlie:** Did you really call Alex and his boyfriend the f-word?

His breathing got ragged, desperate, like his lungs were having trouble. Fucking fuck. Charlie knew he was an asshole too. Hell, he’d known Monty was an asshole from Day 1 – Monty never made an effort to hide it. Why the fuck did Charlie—why the fuck did _anyone—_ expect any better from him? 

Monty closed his eyes, feeling water drench his clothes. 

Winston was the only person who'd expected better of him, who'd seen _him_ beneath all the shit and still smiled like crazy whenever Monty did something as simple as show up. And now he'd left, because Monty was really who everyone else expected him to be. He wasn't any better than Bryce. He didn't deserve any better.

He unlocked his phone again and opened his text chat with Winston. Guilt gripped his heart as he saw the last message Winston had sent him, saying he'd restocked his mini fridge with Gatorade just for him. The water made it hard for Monty to scroll, and he accidentally clicked on the selfie he’d sent Winston not too long ago. He looked so different in that picture—not the tough guy everyone knew him as, but someone else. A person who maybe could be happy.

Except he couldn’t be. That wasn’t him—it felt like he was looking at a pretender. He deleted the picture and let the rage take over. Rage for what, he wasn't sure, but anger was anger, and it was an emotion Monty knew too well.

He sent Winston one last text that he’d regret a million times over.

 **Monty:** Fuck off then. I'll get laid somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be very very clear, I absolutely don't condone anything Monty did on the show (obviously), nor what he did in this chapter, but the reality of it is that Monty was a pretty awful person in the show (except when he was with Winston), so I wanted to flesh that out a little bit.
> 
> This chapter kind of stemmed from me watching Monty in Season 3 and wondering if he was still seeing Winston after Homecoming. Monty was a straight up dick to everyone in Season 3 post-Bryce's murder (thinking specifically of the fight he picked with Zach in the locker room, and the shit he said about Tony in the classroom), and it made me wonder, if he was still seeing Winston during all of that, how would Winston have reacted to that side of Monty if he'd been privy to it from a third-party perspective (bc obvi Monty when he's around Winston is different from Monty when he isn't around Winston)? 
> 
> Another thing I hated in the show was the fact that the abuse Monty got from his father was kind of just used as a blanket explanation for his actions, but was never really called out? Like, it seemed like pretty common knowledge that he was getting beaten at home and nobody did anything? Nobody gave a shit? I mean I get that he was an asshole, but like... this kid was living in a hellscape.
> 
> Aaanyway, long-winded explanations but that's what I was going for lol it's 2:30am and I can barely think anymore


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lol it is much too late on a weekday, and this was proofread by very tired eyes, so please forgive any discrepancies in quality.
> 
> I started writing this chapter and I realized it was getting super long, so halfway through I considered splitting it into two parts and just posting the first one tonight, but the next thing I knew I'd written the second part and it's almost 2am. I have no self-control.
> 
> Anyway, sufficed to say this chapter definitely got away from me, and I really hope I did Monty and Winston some justice here. Like the last chapter, it was kind of a hard one to write because I wanted to get their dynamics right, but I hope it turned out okay!
> 
> Warning for violence (physical abuse). Oh and this chap is explicit yep yep.

When Monty got to school on Monday, he felt like a human dumpster fire. He hadn’t slept all night—all weekend, really—partially because he wanted to make sure he heard his father if he decided to wake up and go on a drunken rampage, and partially because every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the hurt in Winston’s eyes that night of the Hillcrest game. And so he’d lain awake on Saturday and Sunday night, counting the number of times his ceiling fan went round and round. It wasn’t even hot outside, but he’d sweated through the sheets. He’d been dodging calls from Charlie, Scott, then eventually, and surprisingly, from Diego, who never usually called him. He always preferred to text unless it was really necessary – Charlie and Scott must have twisted his arm. 

Monty walked in through the main doors and immediately saw Charlie at his locker. They locked eyes, and Charlie looked ready to ignore him and turn away—he was still mad at him after all—but instead his eyes widened.

Oh, right. Monty’s face was still black and blue.

 _Please go away,_ Monty thought, _Just leave me alone, Charlie. It’s what I deserve._ But Charlie was too good of a person—Monty cursed him for it—and immediately dumped his books back into his locker and made his way over to Monty.

“What happened to you?” Charlie asked, concern clear on his face.

Monty shook his head, trying to deflect. “The fight, you know.”

“Alex said that Callum only landed one punch on you, and it wasn’t even that hard,” Charlie said, frowning.

“Who the fuck is Callum?”

“His boyfriend you beat to a pulp, but I’m not even gonna…” he said, dismissing the rest of his sentence with a shake of his head, instead studying the bruises that peppered Monty’s jawline. “Monty…”

“Go away, Charlie,” Monty sighed. He really couldn’t deal with any of this right now.

“Monty… is your dad spending nights at home again?” Charlie asked softly.

Fuck Charlie and his good heart.

“That’s… it’s none of your business, man,” Monty said, hoping that if he was an unpleasant as possible Charlie would finally see sense and walk away. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

“Monty…”

“I’m not kidding, Charlie,” he said, louder now. His voice was firm, hard—a tone he was used to using but never on Charlie. “Leave me _alone_.”

He didn’t give Charlie a chance to respond as he disappeared down the hall to first period.

***

That week was the embodiment of a living hell. Monty wasn’t sleeping, he was barely eating, and he was more irritable than ever. He only stopped himself when it came to Estela. He’d snapped at her once when she was late getting ready, but he’d cursed at himself internally and apologized immediately. He avoided speaking to her again to avoid another outburst.

Everything annoyed him. He’d get home and want to smash everything on his desk to the floor just to feel the weight of the blow on his hand. The last time he was doing practice drills with Luke and Taylor, he flinched when he heard a camera clicking and cursed at Tyler Down on the sidelines. Hell, he couldn’t even drink a Gatorade without thinking of Winston. When the fuck had Winston become a more-than-insignificant part of his life? He was just… he was just a fuck. Just a one-night stand that went on too long. Just a fucking—

Monty’s head was pounding. Again.

He knew Winston was more than that. He knew it, but he couldn’t think about it—couldn’t think about what that would mean for him. It was easier being the way he was—the kid who got beat at home, was angry all the time. He kept telling himself that, like a mantra, as he took every day as it came.

***

“Okay, I was home sick with the flu for a week! You— _both_ of you—have no fucking excuse!”

Monty was at his locker in the hallway, and he overheard Charlie’s voice from inside the English classroom.

“How the fuck did you not notice the bruises?!” Charlie went on.

Shit, yeah, they were definitely talking about him.

“I know, man, but… what can we do?” Scott was in there with him.

“I…” Charlie seemed at a loss. “I don’t know, but we need to help him.”

“I volunteer to kill his father.” Monty didn’t even need to hear his voice to know that was Diego. 

“Okay, thanks Diego for the genius idea,” Charlie clapped back.

“I thought you were mad at him,” Scott continued.

“I am!” Charlie whisper-shouted back in that very Charlie way of his. Monty could imagine him splaying his palms out in front of him. “But he’s our _friend._ That means I give a shit! And you should too!”

A chorus of “We do!” from Diego and Scott followed, and Monty closed his eyes, exhaling.

He walked away, head down, heart pounding. He knew his friends cared about him—he’d never doubted that. He was loyal to a fault, and he gravitated to people who were the same. But Charlie, Diego, and Scott—they were good people. They weren’t like him and Bryce. He destroyed everything in his path, and he wasn’t about to add his three best friends to the list. And a part of him had always feared that, deep down, he deserved everything his father dealt him.

***

The next few days didn’t get any better. He distanced himself from Charlie, Diego, and Scott, despite their best efforts to coax him out of his misery. It felt uncharacteristic of him—he was used to surrounding himself with his teammates, but he couldn’t bring himself to be around other people now. He wanted to be left the fuck alone.

His father still spent a lot of time at home, and though he hadn’t gone on a full-blown rampage in a while, he still dealt Monty a blow or two here are there, casually like it was nothing. Maybe one day it was because he’d forgotten to set out the cutlery for dinner, and another day it was because his car was parked a little too close to his father’s in the garage. It almost didn’t matter anymore, though, because after the first few days, people stopped asking about the bruises. They just didn’t notice that the bruises never seemed to heal—they just got more defined as his father continued to pile them onto his broken face.

He still thought about Winston every day. He did a double take every time he saw a blue car, heard a camera click, or saw someone sipping a capri sun in the cafeteria. The other day Estela had texted him a picture of the new backpack she’d bought, but when his phone lit up with a text containing a photo, his heart jolted for a moment, thinking about the last time someone sent him a photo.

He’d thought about calling Winston again, maybe leaving him a voicemail to apologize for his last text. He’d regretted it as soon as he sent it—well, as soon as he’d gotten home that night, un-drenched himself, and realized exactly what he’d done in his rage. But Monty was scared. He was scared that Winston wouldn’t want to hear it, scared that he wouldn’t know the right thing to say. Scared that he’d hurt him more without meaning to. He didn’t know if he could live with that.

What finally broke him at school was Ryan Shaver’s fucking Lost and Found magazine, of all things. Luke had come bounding over to where he was sitting in the library, face split open in a gleeful grin. 

“Hey you hot stuff,” he joked, pointing at the newspaper in his hand. “Ryan Shaver just released the latest sports edition.”

Luke had the magazine opened to a page with one feature picture. When Monty ripped his eyes away from his English textbook to follow Luke’s gaze, he froze.

It was the picture Winston had taken of him at the Liberty game. The one of him kneeling down next to Charlie on the bench at halftime.

His mind betrayed him, flickering back to that night Winston had sent it to him.

_“I like this picture of you.”_

_“You want another?”_

He couldn’t breathe. Before he knew it, he’d gotten out of his seat abruptly—almost knocking the entire table over—ripped the newspaper from Luke’s grasp, and bolted out of there. He vaguely heard Luke’s voice calling after him and the librarian promptly shushing him, but Monty had walked away from Luke wordlessly enough times for him to know he wouldn’t be turning back.

***

He thought that practice would be a source of respite that day. He and Zach had barely spoken since their fight at Hillcrest, but it seemed like, against all odds, they were able to put their massive differences, and inherent hatred of each-other, aside on the field. Coach Kerba seemed pleased with how they were leading the team so far. Monty was actually surprised with how well he complemented Zach’s leadership style—at times when Zach was understanding, Monty was exacting, and in moments when Zach was intolerant, Monty was lenient.

When Coach asked him to stay back after practice, he thought nothing of it. Not until Coach was standing in front of him, concern marring his face.

Monty sighed. He just wanted to get home.

“Hey,” Coach said softly, taking a seat in front of him. “How’ve you been?”

“Peachy,” Monty said, shrugging. “Why?”

“Monty, I…” Coach Kerba sighed. “Look, I know you said you took a fall last weekend, and that’s why your face is bruised… but the bruises don’t seem to be healing. And that cut below your eye is fresh. So… I need you to be truthful with me here.”

“I…” Monty glanced away. He was always a smooth liar, but suddenly his mind went blank.

“Monty, I want to help you…” Coach Kerba continued. “Charlie, Diego, Scott… they all want to help you too.”

Monty’s head snapped up. “What the fuck did they tell you?”

Coach held his hands up immediately. “Nothing. I swear to you, they said nothing. I just know they care about you. We all do.”

Monty’s mind took him back to the previous night, when his dad had pushed him against the shelf in their living room. The back of his head was still sore from the impact.

_“You talk back to me again, son, and I will fucking kill you.”_

His father’s voice always put the fear of God into him, though he would never admit it to anyone else. Monty didn’t speak much about his father to any of his friends—he’d mention that he got into fights with his father, but never the fact that you could hardly call something a fight if it was only one person doing the hitting. Monty had never really thought about why he hadn’t talked about his father more— _really_ talked about him—but the thought of his father interacting with, speaking with, _hurting,_ anyone else in Monty’s life made him feel sick to his stomach.

No, this was his cross to bear, and he needed it to stay that way.

***

Monty cursed at his homework again, gripping his pencil so tight that the tip of it broke. His father was playing music so loudly that he could feel the vibrations in the wall, and he couldn’t fucking focus. He was failing three classes already, and he really didn’t want to make it four. The last thing he needed was Principal Bolan pulling him off the team until he got his grades up.

He grabbed another pencil from his case and tried to focus on the next physics problem. But moments later, a gasp ripped out of Monty’s throat when something banged at his bedroom door, rattling it at its hinges.

“What the fuck!” he shouted, standing up from his desk.

Another shattering bang and his father had busted in, and to Monty’s horror, this time he was brandishing a hammer. His eyes were wild—he’d been drinking again—but this time he really looked gone. He was staring at Monty with no recognition in his eyes, but the hammer was swinging left and right like a pendulum.

“Dad, please!” he pleaded desperately, hating the way his voice cracked. He thanked God that Estela had gone out for dinner with her friends.

His dad chuckled, and Monty had a moment of thinking _fuck, fuck, he could really kill me._

Monty’s mind went into fight and flight mode for the umpteenth time that week. He took advantage of his dad’s slow movements in his drunken reverie, snatched backpack from his chair, sprinted out the door and practically leaped into his car seat. He registered vaguely that he was speeding as he ripped down the street, but he didn’t slow down until he got to his destination.

As he looked out at the familiar sight, against the backdrop of the dark Evergreen sky, a part of him broke. It was like hell welcoming him back home.

He’d first come to this hideout a year ago, when he’d escaped from yet another Mr. De La Cruz rampage. That night, he’d been driving aimlessly, in a panic, until he’d pulled into this lot randomly when attempting to do a U-turn back onto the highway. He’d found himself under this abandoned bridge, and he remembered thinking, that very first night, that the faces on the graffiti’d walls looked like they were mocking him. This had been his hideaway ever since—he’d spent an entire Fourth of July weekend here once when his father had come home from a brief stint in jail and decided to terrorize him nonstop while Estela and his mother were vacationing in Oregon. He remembered watching the fireworks from the makeshift tent he’d set up and hating himself for how the sound of the explosions made him flinch.

The hobo hotel.

As he parked his car in its usual spot, Monty realized that hadn’t been there in a while. He shut his eyes and let his forehead drop onto the steering wheel. He hadn’t been there in a while because the last few times his father had terrorized him, he’d driven to Winston’s and spent the night there, under warm covers. Safe. He could feel a physical _pain_ in his heart, and he distracted himself by getting out of the car and into the stiff cold night.

As he took out a few plastic bags filled with water bottles that he kept for emergencies in his trunk, he cursed at himself for not grabbing his emergency duffel bag under his bed that contained a few pairs of jeans, flannels, and a blanket. He was out of practice. And now he was fucking freezing. His car heater had broken a few months ago, and he didn’t have the money to fix it.

Monty ventured deeper into his hideout, under the shade of the bridge, and sighed with relief when he saw that the blue tent he’d set up weeks ago was still standing. He looked inside, hoping that he’d left a blanket there from last time. No such luck.

The tent was small, but it was better than a violent night of taking hits and cradling broken bones. Monty slumped into the tent, realizing how exhausted he was. Fuck, he really was cold. He thought about calling Charlie or Scott, but what the fuck would he say? He hadn’t been on the best terms with them since the Hillcrest fight, and he wasn’t about to grovel for a place to stay.

His mind flickered to Winston, and moments later he found himself scrolling through his earlier texts to him. He felt like an idiot, looking through these conversations just to calm himself down. He smiled softly at the picture of Winston volunteering at the animal shelter, and he willed himself back that moment. He willed himself anywhere but where he was.

Fuck. He missed Winston. He really fucking missed him.

His phone buzzed and he flinched, seeing his father’s name flash across the screen.

He wanted to cry.

Paralyzed with fear, he let the call ring until it dropped. His heart was getting the better of him, pounding in his chest like rain on a sidewalk. He clicked back to his call log, and considered calling his father back. In a twisted way, he still feared what ignoring him could do.

But instead, he found his finger hovering over Winston’s name. He bit his lip, hard. He didn’t know what else to do. He just needed to hear his voice.

After a few rings, Monty’s heart clenched. It was 1am. This looked straight out of a booty call textbook. Why the fuck would Winston even pick up?

“Monty?”

His breath stuttered.

“Hey,” he breathed.

“Are you okay?” Winston asked. Monty closed his eyes, tears escaping down his cheeks silently. But he instantly felt better, hearing Winston’s voice on the other side of the line. He could hear the sleep in Winston’s voice, and vaguely heard covers rustling.

“Monty, where are you?” Winston asked again, sounding worried now.

“H-home.” He knew Winston would see through all of his lies, but his instinct was always a step ahead of his brain.

“Monty, I hear cars,” Winston said gently. Yeah, the hobo hotel was right next to the highway. Never made for a great night’s rest.

“I, uh…” Monty, his breath hitching in his throat. Fuck, did it sound like he was crying? Yeah, it probably did.

“What’s wrong?” Winston asked, and his voice sounded so fucking concerned like nothing he could ever fucking deserve, and Monty fucking broke.

“My dad, he… he’s drunk…”

“Tell me where you are,” Winston interrupted, more firmly now.

“I—”

“Monty.”

He’d never heard Winston so adamant. Part of him still resisted telling him. No one knew about this place. Not even Estela. No one knew about this part of him, a part of him so vulnerable that it terrified him to the core. A part of him he hid so deep inside him that no one could make it see the light of day.

Until Winston came along.

“An abandoned bridge.”

“ _Where?_ ”

“Off of Hyde and Pine.”

“Okay, I’m coming.”

“No—”

“Give me fifteen minutes,” Winston responded, sounding farther away from the phone now, like he was moving. “Don’t go anywhere okay?”

Monty wanted to say something to stop him. Because it was selfish. Monty wanted Winston there with him, but Winston would gain nothing from coming. Nothing but trouble and hurt—that’s all Monty could hope to offer him.

“Okay?” Winston said again, more softly now. Monty heard a whisper of fear in Winston’s voice. And for the first time since he befriended Charlie a year ago, Monty really felt like he could trust a feeling.

He nodded to himself. Okay.

“Okay.”

***

When Monty saw the headlights streaming against the graffiti’d walls, his first instinct was to panic until he recognized Winston’s blue Audi pulling up next to his car. He could feel his heart in his throat, and he watched Winston turn the car off and open the door slowly.

He still looked as beautiful as he had the day they’d met. Monty missed seeing him, and he found himself staring, taking in every inch of his face, like he was making up for lost time.

When Winston spotted him, standing outside the blue tent, his eyes lit up in the same way they always did, and Monty felt a rush of relief he didn’t know he was so desperately craving. In that moment, he knew that if he were to die that day it would be enough to know that Winston could still look at him like that.

Winston walked towards him, but as he got closer he slowed, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. Monty’s mind thought back to the last text message he’d sent him, and he could see the hurt it caused lingering in Winston’s deep hazel eyes.

 _You’re already in hell… you sure you want to keep going?_ the voice in his head sneered.

 _Yeah. Yeah I fucking do._ Monty clapped back at it.

He surged forward determinedly, and with a surprised smile, Winston met him halfway. Their lips slotted together like a key into a lock, and Monty found himself melting into the kiss. Winston was slightly taller than him but it was usually Monty controlling the kiss—this time, he felt Winston’s hands on the back of his head, like he was holding him in place, holding him together, and Monty felt steadied by his touch.

When Winston pulled away, Monty frowned for a minute before he saw him take off the backpack he was carrying. Monty’s eyes widened when he saw Winston unzip it and take out a blanket, and a few bottles of Gatorade.

“What—”

“I… you sounded cold over the phone,” Winston said, holding the red blanket—with reindeers on it, of all things—in his hand. “So, I just thought I’d bring a few things, just in case.”

Winston wrapped the blanket around Monty’s shoulders, which—he just realized—were shaking from the cold.

“I… It’s so late,” Monty said, inexplicably. He really wasn’t great with words when he was nervous. “You don’t have to stay… I…”

“You trying to kick me out?” Winston asked, and Monty’s mind flickered back to their first night together, when he’d asked Winston the same thing.

“No, I just…” Monty sighed. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Winston said. “But if you don’t want me here…”

Monty shook his head immediately, one hand gripping Winston’s shoulder.

“I want you here.”

Silence stretched between them, but it was a comfortable one. Monty studied Winston’s face again, grateful that he still could. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, hoping that it didn’t fall flat. This wasn’t his first apology, after all, and apologizing had never been his forte. “For the fucking fight at Hillcrest… for the text… I didn’t mean what I said…”

Emotions flickered across Winston’s face, and Monty couldn’t tell if they were good or bad.

“I’m… I’m a shit person sometimes and I get angry… I _got_ angry,” he continued, the words fighting in his brain, coming out like a jumbled mess. But at least he was trying. “And I didn’t apologize to you when I should have… I waited too long and I didn’t know what to say… I’m really fucking bad at this and that’s no excuse, but—"

“Monty… I don’t think you’re a shit person,” Winston said, and Monty felt himself focusing on the conviction in his gaze. “When I heard you insulting Alex and Cal, I just… I was _scared._ I know you apologized to me because you wanted to have sex, but I was scared that maybe you didn’t want it to continue and you just couldn’t tell me… and then when I saw that text, it thought it just confirmed it, and—”

“What the fuck—” Monty said before he couldn’t even register everything that Winston was saying. “No. _No._ I…”

He groaned inwardly.

“I didn’t apologize just to get in your pants…. Is that what you thought?” he said softly.

Winston blinked, and Monty closed his eyes. Fuck. It had become an indisputable fact in his mind that Winston meant much more than a fuck to him. It was a fact he hadn’t always accepted, but a fact nonetheless. But he hadn’t ever told Winston that. Hell, when given the chance the best he’d done was effectively admit to Winston that he was, in fact, _just_ swinging by at night to have sex. The thought of Winston really believing that made him feel like shit.

“That’s not true,” he said, steeling himself. “I… Fuck, I care about you.”

A part of him couldn’t believe he was doing this—confessing this to a _guy_ —but nothing had ever felt more right. Because it was the truth. The first truth Monty had lived with for a long time.

Winston smiled—a genuine, surprised smile—that made Monty’s heart twitch.

“I care about _you_ ,” Winston said, guiding their heads together so their foreheads touched. Monty could see hurt flicker in Winston’s gaze as his eyes surveyed the bruises that covered Monty’s face. “Was this… was this your dad?”

Monty shrugged, pulling back. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Winston responded immediately, his eyes going hard. Hard, but not unkind.

Monty sighed, and after a long silence, he nodded. “I know.”

Another gust of wind swept through, and Winston shivered. They made their way back to Winston’s car, which was warm and comfortable, albeit a little smaller than Monty’s. After some persuasion from Winston, Monty cracked one of Gatorade bottles open and drank the entire bottle in a few gulps. Fuck, he was thirsty.

The elephant in the room—Monty's father—still lingered, but Monty couldn't muster the courage to talk about it. He could tell that Winston sensed this, though, and was thankful that he didn't push it. He'd just silently handed him an ice pack, which Monty took with a grateful thank you.

“Oh, I brought your flannel,” Winston said, taking out of his backpack. “Thought you’d be missing it by now.”

Monty chuckled. Strangely, he hadn’t. The thought of Winston having something of his, while he couldn’t be there himself, had given him a weird sense of peace. Like there was still something that tied them to each other, despite everything.

“You know,” Winston said slowly. “I didn’t leave that night at the Hillcrest game.”

Monty glanced over, frowning. “Huh?”

“I mean, yeah, I was hurt and confused, but at first I just took my car out for a drive around the block to clear my head before the game ended,” he said. “But I was always planning on coming back to pick you up. I was just turning back into the school when I… when I got your text, and… well, then I just went home.”

Monty’s breath hitched. _Fuck._

“Y-you were coming back for me? Even after seeing what I did?”

“Well, yeah…” Winston said, breaking their eye contact. “I… I really do care about you, you know.”

“No, I… I don’t know,” Monty said quickly. “I mean, I _do_ know you care, but I don’t know why. I don’t know how you could possibly care when you _know_ how I can… I fucking _beat you up,_ I… I’m good for nothing and you haven’t even seen the worst of—”

“Stop,” Winston said, moving a hand to grip Monty’s wrist gently and turning to face him. “Stop that.”

Monty winced, and their eyes locked again.

“I _like_ you,” Winston said firmly. “You’re not good for nothing. Not to me. You’re loyal to your friends, you care about that team like your own family, and I love that. You love Estela, and even though you like to say you don’t, you care about doing well at school. You _try._ And I love the way you are with me… how you make me feel, even when I tried not to care about you ‘cause I didn’t think you…” he shook his head. “You’re good… with me… _to_ me.”

“I want to be,” Monty whispered. “And I’d never lay a hand on you. Ever again.”

“I know that.”

“I just… sometimes I feel like I’m too far gone,” Monty confessed, looking away. He felt like he was breathing fire. He’d never admitted that to anyone, and yet it was his greatest fear. 

“And I’m never letting you think that. Ever again,” Winston said, echoing his words back.

Fuck, Monty thought. He knew he couldn’t deserve Winston, couldn’t _ever_ possibly deserve this, but he was sure as fuck going to do everything he could to earn it. 

***

“Fuck!” Monty gasped as Winston clenched around his dick.

Monty thanked God that there was no one around for miles, because this was the loudest they’d ever been.

They’d started making out in Winston’s car, before moving to Monty’s for the space—Monty had joked that his car was the only thing he had that was bigger than Winston’s. But despite the larger space, they hadn’t been able to get into a comfortable position for Monty to slide into Winston. In a fit of lust, Winston had surprised Monty by pouting and dragging him out of the car and to the tent, where they had laid a blanket out and were now fucking. Hard.

They’d both clearly missed each-other’s touch, and their kisses had gone from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds. Winston was particularly vocal, and Monty couldn’t get enough.

“Monty!” Winston groaned when Monty changed their angle, hitting his prostate again.

Monty grasped at the floor of the tent, feeling the material bunch up in his fists. A thought popped into his head, and he bit his lip, looked down at Winston mischievously, and pulled out.

“Wh—” The words were cut short when Monty flipped Winston over and slid into him from behind, which allowed him to go deeper.

“Fuck,” Winston groaned, his face up against the soft blanket. “That feels so good.”

Monty’s hand found Winston’s hair, and he pulled ever so slightly. His hair had gotten longer since the last time they’d seen each-other, and Monty loved feeling the curls snake around his fingers.

“Yeah?” Monty smirked. But when Winston clenched again, he faltered, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. He usually let Winston come first, but this time he didn’t feel like he had as much control. Seeing Winston for the first time in weeks, feeling him around him, touching him… It was all too much for Monty, and before he knew it he was coming with a muffled moan.

Winston whined when he slowed his thrusts down, clearly still chasing his release. When Monty finally came to himself, he repositioned them. He had something else in mind.

“Monty, _no,_ ” Winston said when Monty pulled out of him. He twisted like a cat, palming at Monty’s half-hard cock.

“Shhh,” Monty whispered, grabbing Winston’s ankles and positioning himself between them, on his knees. “I want to try something.”

Winston’s eyes widened when he saw what Monty was doing. Monty bit his lip, willing himself not to fuck this up. He’d never given someone a blowjob before, but he wanted to do this. How hard could it be?

He licked an experimental stripe up Winston’s cock, which was hard and leaking, and Winston keened. Monty’s cock twitched at the reaction, but he ignored it. He wanted to make Winston feel good.

He took Winston’s head in his mouth and sucked, taking as much of it in as he could. He suppressed his gag reflex when Winston’s cock hit the back of his throat, and he immediately pulled out a little and jerked the base of Winston’s cock, where his mouth couldn’t reach, with his palm. As he sucked Winston off, he reveled in the sounds his actions were tearing from Winston’s throat. Monty could tell he was getting close.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Winston gasped, and though Monty couldn’t see his face, he could imagine how he looked, black hair splayed across his forehead and his eyes clenched tight.

Monty pulled his mouth off of Winston’s cock with a pop for a quick breath, but he continued to jerk Winston off with his hand.

“I’m gonna come,” Winston whined, biting down on his lip.

“Then come for me,” Monty said softly.

He ducked down and took Winston into his mouth again. Winston’s thighs clenched and he came almost instantly, his mouth open in a strangled moan. Monty clenched his eyes shut, controlling his gag reflex as he swallowed.

 _Fuck, that wasn’t so bad,_ Monty thought has he got up onto his knees and looked at Winston, who looked back at him blissfully. _That was fucking great, actually._

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” Winston chuckled.

As Monty moved to lie down next to Winston, he saw Winston pull away casually and roll over so he was at the other end of the tent. Monty frowned at first before realization came over him. He’d always insisted on not cuddling—or even touching—after sex at Winston’s. Fuck, he really was an asshole.

Monty couldn’t lie—it still felt weird to him to _want_ this. A deep, sick part of him still felt lingering feelings of disgust about what he was doing. But for a long time he’d ignored that part of him, and he’d been so much better for it.

Monty bit his lip and reached out, bringing Winston towards him by his waist. Winston was small enough that it wasn’t hard for Monty to pull him in until his back was against Monty’s bare chest. Winston turned around and looked at Monty, blinking in surprise. And then he smiled—daybreak—and Monty smiled back like the morning sky.

***

“So, uh, the week before the Hillcrest game I went up to San Francisco to see my grandma,” Winston said, and Monty nodded absently, vaguely remembering Winston texting him about it. “And, uh… I got you something while I was there.”

Winston rolled out of Monty’s arms and rifled through his backpack before pulling out something wrapped in paper. Monty looked closer and saw that it was a brown leather necklace with a small shell pendant. There were beads adorning the necklace, holding the shell in place.

“My grandma lives by the ocean, and we went into one of the shops near her house where they were selling these, all handmade, and I just… I thought it would look nice on you,” Winston shrugged. “I was going to give it to you after the game, but, you know…”

When Monty looked back up at Winston, he noticed that he looked a little embarrassed.

“This is kinda stupid,” Winston said.

“No!” Monty said immediately. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” Winston asked.

Monty nodded again. He really did. He never wore jewelry—not because he didn’t like it, but just because he never bothered to. But the shell reminded him of fond memories he had with Estela and his mother years ago on beach vacations, long before his father started hitting him. And the fact that Winston had gotten it for him was enough to make him appreciate it.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding as Winston placed it in his hands. “I really do.”

“Obviously you… don’t have to wear it in public or anything,” Winston said. “But I just wanted you to have it.”

Monty nodded slowly, the reality behind Winston’s question not lost on him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, almost inaudibly.

“If you’re going to apologize for not being ready to come out, you can stop—”

“I…”

“Monty… I’d never push you to come out,” Winston said softly. “I know… I know what this has to be. But… I want this… with you. If you want it to. And however we have to do it, works for me.”

“I want this with you too,” Monty said, feeling wetness creep into his eyes. Fuck. He really was going soft. But deep inside he had this nagging feeling that there was no way this could be enough for Winston.

Winston was beautiful, attractive, smart… Monty wasn’t an idiot. If he hadn’t captured Winston’s attentions, there would be a line out the fucking door. And that terrified him.

Monty leaned in to capture Winston’s lips in a soft kiss, distracting himself from his thoughts.

They’d planned to drive back to Winston’s—in their separate cars—but the more they talked, and the sleepier they got, the more obvious it was to the both of them that they’d be spending the night in the tent. Monty was used to the cold—he’d spent more than his fair share of nights at the hobo hotel—but he noticed that while Winston wasn’t shivering, his skin was still cold to the touch. Winston had dismissed Monty’s suggestion of going back to Winston’s car and blasting the heating, probably because he felt too comfortable in Monty’s arms. Monty finally acquiesced, but not before getting up and reaching for Winston’s backpack once more.

“What’re you doing?” Winston asked, his voice already muffled with sleep.

Monty didn’t answer him until he found what he was looking for. He crawled back to Winston, who smiled when he saw what Monty had brought.

He helped Winston into his black and white flannel, chuckling softly at how cute he looked. The flannel looked much too big on him, but it served its purpose against the cold.

“Louie would be jealous right now,” Winston said, settling back into Monty’s embrace.

Monty was surprised at how much he liked holding Winston as they lay side by side. It felt safe, comfortable, like he had something right there with him he was never letting go of.

“We’re packing up this tent tomorrow, by the way,” Winston said, yawning mid-sentence.

“What?”

“You don’t have to stay in this place ever again,” he said simply.

Monty blinked, smiling in the silence. He buried a small kiss into Winston’s hair and followed him into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My 2am brain can't think too coherently, but I hope y'all enjoyed this! Monty and Winston really do care for each-other, but Monty's got a lot of demons that won't be put to bed so easily.
> 
> Winston really is a light in Monty's life, but I wanted to show not only Winston's influence on Monty, but also Monty's influence on Winston. I think post-show, there was a lot of talk about how Winston could have saved Monty, and I really do believe he could've if they'd met a little earlier, but I also wanted to use this fic to explore how Monty could've been a positive influence on Winston as well, had they been given the chance.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This update is another case of me being crap at outlining my chapters, because this chapter was initially meant to cover a lot more plot but then, classic me, it got way too long so I had to reconfigure it into two chapters. I hope the pacing's ok as a result!
> 
> This chapter is basically a whole lot of fluff. I've been having a pretty crap week so I needed some happiness haha. Smut ahead as well (not my fault these two can't keep their hands off each-other).

When Monty and Estela got to school on Monday, Monty remembered feeling less agitated than he had in a long time. He’d manage to dodge his father all weekend, spending most of it with Winston and then feigning a group project and sneaking off to Bryce’s for the better part of Sunday. He’d grown to despise Bryce, but being his friend was easy – Bryce always took him in no matter what, no questions asked. Winston had offered to let him stay on Sunday too, but his parents would be home and Monty knew he it would be too difficult for them to sneak around while they were all under the same roof.

First period was always a bitch, and Mondays were no exception. Physics was not a subject Monty had any affinity for, and sitting next to a grumbling Luke for a full hour and twenty minutes was good enough to do his head in.

As he tried to pay attention to what the teacher was saying, Monty was conscious of the still-unfamiliar but pleasant feeling of the new necklace that Winston had given him on his neck. He knew that Winston hadn’t expected him to actually wear it, but that morning when he saw the necklace in his backpack, he realized that no one would ever know who gave it to him. It didn’t look like something he wouldn’t get for himself. So he’d put it on. He expected it to make him feel exposed, but it actually did the opposite. It made him feel safe, like he had something just for him, that he had the power to protect from everyone else. 

At lunch, Monty approached his locker and saw Charlie milling about, clearly looking to get his attention.

Monty bit his lip, but still strolled over with all the confidence in the world.

“Hey, Charlie,” he said, opening his locker.

“Hey,” Charlie said nervously. He looked like a wounded puppy, and it was only then that Monty realized he’d looked this way for a while. Monty had been too caught up in his own crap to actually apologize to Charlie for everything.

He sighed. Fuck. Since when did he start owning up to his mistakes? Since when had that been something he cared about?

Monty shut his locker and turned to face Charlie. Silence stretched between them, and Monty hated how scared Charlie looked. Monty had a temper the size of a football field, he knew it. But surely Charlie of all people knew he had nothing to worry about.

I mean, sure, he’d called Alex a faggot and never apologized for it, but—

Fuck. Yeah, fuck. He was a fucking asshole.

“Look, Charlie,” he sighed, looking away. Apologies were still new to him, and he wasn’t about to add eye contact to the list of requirements here. “I’m sorry, ‘bout the fight I picked at Hillcrest. Y’know it wasn’t… you know.”

Charlie looked at him, and Monty frowned, feeling his palms sweat. Yeah, he decided. He fucking hated apologizing. Most of the time.

“I know,” he said softly.

“I don’t have a problem with you being, you know…”

“Bisexual?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah,” Monty shrugged. “You know that, right?”

“I do,” Charlie said, nodding in a way that assured Monty he wasn’t bullshitting.

“I just… I got angry,” he said, shrugging again. “I shouldn’t have called them fag—the f-word.”

“I heard it was Bryce who started the fight,” Charlie said.

“Yeah,” Monty said. “No excuse though.”

“I mean, yeah,” Charlie said, breaking into a laugh. That broke the ice, and they both shared an amused chuckle.

“Sorry, man,” Monty said, giving Charlie a small smile. “Really, I am.”

“It’s okay. I just wish you wouldn’t defend him all the time,” Charlie said, sighing.

“I know, I know,” Monty responded. “He’s just… he’s one of my best friends. _Was_ one of my best friends.”

“I understand, man,” Charlie said, his face twisting into a sympathetic smile. Studying Charlie’s face then, Monty realized that he really _did_ understand. His expression spoke volumes—Charlie had never liked Bryce, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew it wasn’t and was never going to be black and white when it came to their former quarterback. Hell, even Foley still hung out with the guy sometimes and they hated each-other.

“You’re my brother either way,” Charlie continued, and Monty nodded, reciprocating the sentiment. They clasped hands and Charlie brought him into a small hug. 

And just like that, he and Charlie were okay, and Monty felt a weight lifted off his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d apologized—he’d apologized several times already to Winston and meant it every time—but he was really starting to believe like something in him was changing. Or _had_ changed. Like maybe apologizing was something that could actually come naturally to him.

“So, uh, awkward question,” Charlie was saying as they made their way to the cafeteria. It felt good knowing he could sit with Charlie again. He’d grown sick of suppressing his appetite just so he didn’t have to sit alone—even though he’d _wanted_ to be alone.

“Yeah?” Monty asked.

“I was on a run on Sunday morning and saw your car parked down on Commonwealth,” he said, looking ahead as innocently as ever. “Never see you in my neck of the woods so I genuinely thought you were lost.”

Monty almost stopped in his tracks, but had to force himself to keep walking, trying to remain casual.

_Shit._

Thankfully, Charlie was still rambling, giving him time to think.

“I was going to come say hi, but you weren’t actually _in_ your car and I wasn’t going to be a creep and wait there for you…” he was saying.

Monty chuckled, hoping he didn’t sound like he was shitting himself.

“Yeah, I was actually, um…” the wheels in his head continued to turn. Lying was, after all, something he was actually good at. “I was feeling shitty about, this whole thing. And I actually came to apologize to you? But I kinda psyched myself out.”

Charlie tilted his head, and Monty felt a foreign sense of guilt creep into him when it was obvious that Charlie believed him. Guilt was another emotion he wasn’t used to feeling.

“Oh,” Charlie said, his face lighting up, reminding Monty of Winston.

“Okay, don’t get sappy on me,” Monty said, chuckling but also eager to change the subject.

He tried to ignore the voice in his head, warning him that all of this—sneaking around with Winston—was a shit idea that could only end badly. He’d been lucky this time—Charlie had believed him, and he hadn’t actually _seen_ Monty walking to his car from Winston’s that morning. But he wasn’t one to rely on luck. He had to be careful.

“Yo! Fuckheads!”

Monty turned around and smiled. He saw Scott and Diego sitting at their usual table, beckoning them over.

“You idiots kiss and make up yet?” Diego asked.

“All good now,” Charlie joked, sharing a smile with Monty.

“Great, ‘cause Diego was getting tired of seeing mom and dad fight,” Scott scoffed.

“Oh fuck off, Scott,” Diego said, tossing a few cinnamon toast crunch bits at him.

“All right, boys,” Charlie said, opening his lunch box and taking out four bagels. Monty barked out a laugh. “Who wants everything and who wants plain?”

As he dug into his fruit loops and let Scott and Diego fight over their choice of bagels, Monty took a deep breath. Things were okay now. They were better.

His phone buzzed, and he looked to see who it was.

**Winston:** How’s your Monday going

**Winston:** I miss you already. Is that stupid to say?

He glanced up, making sure that Scott, Diego, and Charlie were still preoccupied. Yep, Scott was now somehow trying to get cream cheese, flung onto him by Diego, out of his hair. Charlie was groaning.

Monty rolled his eyes and looked down at his phone.

**Monty:** Well Charlie, Scott, and Diego are re-enacting a Three Stooges act in the cafeteria. You?

**Monty:** And no. I miss you too

***

Monty yawned as he rolled over in his bed. It was almost midnight, and his father wasn’t home yet. That usually meant he wouldn’t be home until dawn, but Monty was always too scared to take the risk and fall asleep. He hated waking up to the sound of his father crashing into his room, ready for a fight. He’d rather be prepared. That made for a lot of long, sleepless nights of waiting.

So when his mother texted him to let him know that she and her father were spending the night at his grandparents’—he was probably to drunk to drive them home—Monty finally relaxed and let his head drop back on his pillow.

Winston had been working on his math homework for hours, and Monty glanced at his phone to see if he’d ever finished. It felt so natural checking up on him, talking to him, like he’d been doing it for his whole life. He loved just knowing that Winston was there.

**Monty:** You done yet?

**Winston:** I give up. I’ll copy Caleb’s homework in the morning.

Caleb was Winston’s best friend at Hillcrest. Monty didn’t know much about him other than the fact that he was a 4.0 student and that he and Winston had bonded over sarcastic social commentary of pointless Hillcrest student events when they first met.

**Monty:** There’s that Princeton legacy brain

**Winston:** Hahaha shut up

**Monty:** Heading to bed now

Monty could see Winston typing, then stopping, then typing again. He waited for a minute, and was about to put his phone down on his bedside table when it buzzed again. He unlocked his phone and he saw the picture Winston had sent.

Monty inhaled sharply.

It was a picture of Winston in bed, smiling, but the camera was angled downward to show that he was wearing Monty’s black and white flannel shirt. Winston’s bedhead hair and tired eyes made him want to give him a hug. Or kiss him. Fuck. Monty felt his dick twitch in his boxers, but he willed it away.

**Monty:** Not to steal your line, but fuck, you look perfect

**Winston:** It’s comfy

**Monty:** I’m glad it’s keeping you warm

**Winston:** Well, the fire doesn’t hurt either

**Monty:** Ok thanks for the flex asshole

**Winston:** Good night :)

Monty bit his lip before he turned his bedside lamp on again. He flipped on his front camera, frowning when he saw how disheveled and tired he looked. He adjusted his hair a little bit, but it ended up looking like he’d just gone through a wind tunnel and emerged with all his hair standing straight up. He fiddled with it again, feeling like a fucking idiot. He angled the picture just right, so it showed the necklace he was wearing against his bare collarbone.

He hit send.

**Winston:**!!!!!

**Winston:** It looks great. You look great J

**Monty:** I wore it at school today

**Winston:** You did NOT

**Winston:** Really?

**Monty:** Yeah, no big deal

It really hadn’t been. It had felt like the most normal thing in the world.

**Winston:** Big deal to me

**Winston:** Sleep well :)

***

Monty glanced at his phone as he adjusted himself in the backseat of Charlie’s car. They were heading to Cameron’s birthday party, which was supposedly advertised across Hillcrest, Liberty, and Sacred Heart—Cameron was a popular guy in Evergreen County, it seemed. Monty hadn’t planned on coming at first—not until he found out that most of his friends were planning on it, including Charlie. Since his and Charlie’s falling out, they hadn’t been to a party together, and Monty thought he owed him some socializing. He also thought it’d be nice to let off some steam after the hellish past few weeks.

Winston would also be there, as would almost all the Hillcrest upperclassmen. Monty had seen him a few times since their night at the hobo hotel, but this was the first time they’d be in the same place with other people since the night they met.

They’d talked the night before, trying to figure out how they were planning to interact. It felt weird, talking things through with someone. When Winston had texted him about it at first, Monty’s first instinct was to suggest that they just wing it—to shrug off. But he realized he really wanted to get this right. He’d fucked up enough times with Winston, and he’d come to peace, at least mostly, with the fact that this—that _Winston_ —was important to him.

It was Monty who’d ended up insisting that they see each-other at the party, surprising himself when he brushed off Winston’s suggestion of staying clear until they could link up later that night.

_“I just… I want to see you,” Monty had said, staring up at his ceiling fan. “We could sneak into one of the rooms, or something. We could do it, I think.”_

_“I just don’t want us to get caught,” Winston had responded, and Monty could hear his concern for him in his voice. “I don’t want you to risk anything for me—”_

_“We can figure it out.”_

Monty didn’t know where the confidence had come from, because now he was sweating bullets in the back of Charlie’s car as they turned into Cameron’s driveway. Maybe it was because he was so used to seeing Winston in his bedroom and only his bedroom—the thought of being able to kiss him somewhere else, albeit also behind closed doors, excited him. And given how it had ended the _last_ time they’d been at a party together, Monty really wanted to make better memories.

They’d agreed to ignore each-other in front of other people, just to be safe, but meet up in one of the rooms upstairs around midnight. Winston was going to head up first and make sure they had the all clear, and Monty was to wait for his text.

It was still barely 10, so Monty decided to have a good time in the meantime. He and Charlie took command of a beer pong table and went at it, first picking off Scott and Diego, who were already too drunk to play very well, and then beating Cameron and his girlfriend Leslie, followed by rounds and rounds of other Hillcrest kids. Yeah, they were the fucking dream team.

“Amateurs,” Charlie sang as he flung another ball, bullseye. Only he could make an insult sound sweet.

As Monty was surveying the crowd, he caught a glimpse of Winston at the kitchen island, a drink in his hands. He was wearing a grey sweatshirt, and his hair was wavier than usual, his curls less defined. Monty flashed back to when he’d first seen him with a drink in his hands on Purcell’s balcony, staring him down.

Looking at him now, knowing how far they’d come in a few short weeks—knowing how lucky he was that they weren’t strangers anymore—Monty felt his heart swell.

***

Monty hissed when he felt Winston bite into his palm. He hadn’t thought about how fucking _hard_ it would be for them to stay quiet. They were used to fucking in an empty house, and though the party music was loud, Monty didn’t want to take any risks.

So he’d covered Winston’s mouth with his hand as he fucked him standing up, Winston’s cheek pressing against the bathroom wall.

He wasn’t expecting them to have sex right away. At first he just wanted to _see_ Winston, talk to him, but the moment the bathroom door closed and the lock clicked, Winston eyed him like fucking prey and Monty knew he was a goner. When Winston had tugged Monty’s shirt off and seen him in nothing but the necklace he’d given him, he’d bitten his lip, as if he were trying to control himself. Monty’s patience escaped him and he wasted no time prepping Winston and sliding into him.

It was rough and quick, but they didn’t mind. Monty could hear the distinct sound of skin slapping against skin as he drove into Winston at the perfect angle, and he muffled his groans into Winston’s shoulder, trying not to leave marks.

“Fucking _shit_ ,” he whispered, his voice straining.

When he felt wetness on his palm that he knew wasn’t coming from Winston’s mouth, his hips stuttered to a pause.

“Fuck, are you okay?” he asked suddenly, concerned.

“ _Yes,_ ” Winston gasped softly. Monty could see that tears had escaped his eyes, and he hesitated.

“Fuck, keep _going_ ,” Winston insisted. “I’m just… Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”

Monty resumed his movements, and Winston went back to biting his palm. He was pushing back into Monty, meeting every thrust of his hips. Fuck, he’d never seen Winston lose so much control. And he wasn’t alone. The excitement of fucking somewhere other than Winston’s bedroom—at a _party,_ no less, just like any couple would—was not lost on Monty.

Monty bit his lip and brought his free hand to grip Winston’s hair, pulling his head back.

He tried to hold on as long as he could, but seconds later he was coming, and he could feel Winston’s legs buckle, signaling that he’d come too.

They didn’t have much time to come down from their high; they were both aware that they needed to get out of there quickly. They looked at their reflections in the mirror, and Monty instantly felt guilty about destroying Winston’s hair. Winston looked less bothered, ruffling it a little and looking in the mirror with a shrug. He was lucky his hair was wavy and a little mess didn’t look odd.

Monty wasn’t so lucky. His hair was all over the place, and he _definitely_ looked like he’d just had sex. He saw Winston’s eyes widen when he noticed how scared Monty looked. Winston bit his lip and took one of the combs on the bathroom sink.

“Here,” he said, brushing it through Monty’s hair a few times. When Monty looked back in the mirror, he was surprised to find that it actually worked. His hair looked better. Normal, even.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling softly.

Winston smiled at him, coyly—as if they hadn’t just been fucking against the bathroom wall—and Monty brought him in by his shirt collar for one last kiss.

Monty peaked outside and, to his relief, the entire hallway was clear. He and Winston walked out and towards the stairs.

“That was fun,” Winston chuckled, glancing back at Monty as they reached the stairs, which was also clear of people. They were on the third floor, and it looked like most of the partygoers were mingling on the first.

“I hope I wasn’t too rough,” Monty said, smiling nervously.

Winston shook his head.

“No, you—"

“Monty!”

Monty turned to see Bryce bounding from down the hallway. Fuck. Of course it had to be Bryce.

“Hey,” Monty said, trying his best to steady his voice. “What’s up man?”

“Why are you talking to him?” Bryce asked him, gesturing at Winston. His voice was casual, but it had that dangerous undertone that made Monty nervous. Winston had to get out of there before Bryce—unpredictable as he was—caused any trouble.

“Monty?” Bryce repeated, eyebrow raised.

_Fuck—_

“I was talking to him,” Winston interrupted. “Just asked him where the bathroom was.”

“Well, you fucking know better than to bother my boy Monty here, don’t you, Win?” Bryce asked, cocking his head slightly and leaning on the bannister. “Don’t want Monty to have to teach you the same lesson twice.”

Fuck. Monty’d forgotten that Bryce still thought he’d beaten Winston up for a real reason he just couldn’t remember because he’d been too drunk.

Monty glanced back at Winston inadvertently, but Winston’s gaze had frozen in fear. Monty frowned at the sudden change in Winston’s demeanor. He fled down the stairs, and Monty couldn’t help but stare after him before he quickly remembered that Bryce was still there.

“That faggot bothering you again?” Bryce asked, slinging an arm across Monty’s shoulder. “Was he telling the truth?”

“Yeah,” Monty shrugged. “Just asked where the bathroom was.”

“All right, well, if he bothers you…” Bryce said, leaning against the bannister again and taking another sip of beer.

“Don’t worry about it man,” Monty shrugged. “He won’t talk.”

“You know I take care of you, right, brother?” Bryce said, smiling at him. “I’ll make damn sure he doesn’t talk.”

Monty felt a sense of unease creeping into him, but he smiled back. Like he always would.

“Yeah.”

***

**Monty:** That was fun tonight

**Winston:** Yeah, it was :)

**Monty:** I’m sorry about Bryce. Are you OK?

**Winston:** It’s fine, and yeah I am. Why?

**Monty:** You seemed scared

**Winston:** He’s a pretty scary guy?

**Monty:** Fair

**Monty:** You didn’t have to lie to cover me, btw

**Winston:** I know

**Winston:** I don’t mind

Monty sighed. This constant feeling of guilt was a relatively new part of him, and he hated how useless it made him feel. He knew that Winston had agreed to this—the hiding, the sneaking around, _everything,_ so Monty shouldn’t feel bad about what this had to be. But he still did. He felt bad every time he had to ignore Winston in public, pretend he didn’t know him. Pretend he wasn’t one of the most important people in his life.

***

Monty found himself feeling more and more at home at Winston’s. It was strange that his bedroom had become Monty’s safe space, and it shocked him sometimes how happy it made him. Despite Monty’s protests, Winston had convinced him to keep a small drawer of things in his room. He’d just emptied out a small drawer on his bedside table first, and slowly Monty found himself caving in. First he’d put a second stick of deodorant in the drawer, then his toothbrush… then, he started keeping a few flannels, a few extra pairs of underwear.

“So… your birthday,” Monty said, as Winston paused the movie they were watching—the first Lord of the Rings—to get up and dim the lights. A week ago, Winston had casually mentioned that his birthday was coming up, but he hadn’t brought it up again. Monty didn’t know whether Winston expected that they do something together, that he expected _Monty_ to do something for him, and finally, now that they were only days away, he cracked.

Settling back into the bed, Winston looked over, and Monty cursed him for looking so damn innocent. He was halfway through a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream—Monty’s bowl of cookie dough ice cream was long gone—and he looked at him with ice cream smeared across his lips. Monty resisted the urge to kiss it off of him—they’d only just had sex.

“Do you—” Monty paused. “Are your parents doing something with you?”

Winston shrugged. “Probably take me to dinner the day of. It’s on a Wednesday. Then I was planning to hang out with a few friends on the weekend. Probably go catch a movie or something.”

“Right.”

Silence stretched between them, and Monty took a breath.

“I’m sorry I can’t take you out,” he said softly. It wasn’t meant to sound like another apology for apologies’ sake, but he knew it did.

Winston looked at him, his brow creasing. “You know I don’t care about that. And we could hang here one of the weekend nights, if you want to.”

“Yeah,” Monty said. “But I don’t want to keep you at home on your birthday weekend.”

“But I want to spend it with you,” Winston responded. “I can see my friends on the Friday night.”

“Okay,” he said, smiling.

Sometimes he still wondered— _really_ wondered—how Winston put up with him. He wasn’t stupid—he knew that he’d been keeping Winston in on nights he could be spending with friends, or doing things outside of what they were capable of doing in the four walls of a bedroom. Monty knew that staying in was hardly anyone’s idea of a date.

Half an hour later, he was tucking into a bag of popcorn on Winston’s bed, still watching the movie, while Winston rummaged around his walk-in closet (because, _of course_ he had a walk-in closet), looking for his Hillcrest vest.

“You’re missing the good part,” he said.

“There are no _bad_ parts in Lord of the Rings, Monty,” Winston shouted at him from inside his closet.

Monty didn’t respond. He couldn’t argue with that.

Monty downed the rest of his Gatorade and aimed for the trashcan. He watched in satisfaction as the bottle went straight into the can, but then he remembered recycling. Groaning, he got up and reached into the trashcan to retrieve the bottle.

He noticed a colorful card in the trashcan, and thought nothing of it until his hand moved and he saw the word _dance._ He frowned, and curiosity got the best of him and he fished the letter out and opened it.

Of course, like a fucking movie, Winston decided to come back into the room the exact moment he was reading the card.

He thought for a split second about shoving the card back into the trashcan and attempting the lie of his life, but Winston had already seen him. Instead, he resigned to having to confront him head on.

“What’s the Fall Fling?” he asked.

Winston shrugged, but his eyes had sobered. “Nothing, just this stupid dance. Basically another excuse to host a party, as if we don’t already have a _Spring_ Fling. _And_ a Winter Formal.”

“Right.”

Winston pursed his lips before sighing. “Someone asked me to it.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Monty said, frowning.

“I said no, obviously,” Winston said.

“Who was it?”

Winston sighed, looking away. He looked like he didn’t want to answer the question. “Some guy I used to date,” he said softly.

Monty nodded, his lips set in a straight. He was trying not to read anything into this. Trying to stay emotionless.

“He’s not… We’re not—” Winston started, looking at Monty desperately. “I broke up with him last year, and I’ve barely talked to him since."

“Why’d you break up? Cause it seems like he’s still into you if he’s asking you to a dance.”

Monty didn’t know why he sounded so defensive. He could feel himself getting angry, but he knew he trusted Winston. His instincts were never so easy to control though, and his mind was going haywire.

“We weren’t right for each other,” Winston said simply.

Monty scoffed before he could stop himself. He chuckled, like Winston had just told a good joke.

“And we are?”

“What?” Winston looked confused.

“And _we’re_ right for each other?” Monty asked, smiling a saccharine smile. “I fucking beat you to a pulp the first night we met, and now we can’t even hang out outside your bedroom.”

Winston winced, eyes blowing wide with hurt, and Monty felt a pang in his chest. Fuck, he’d hurt him again and he couldn’t even control himself.

“I’m sorry,” Monty said, but he turned away, biting down on his lip and clenching his eyes closed. He couldn’t fucking do this. All he did was apologize and fuck up, apologize and fuck up.

After a few moments of silence, Monty felt Winston’s hand on his arm.

“Hey,” Winston said, and like a magic bullet, Monty felt himself relax immediately. Fuck, every time he felt himself about to head into a tailspin, Winston could always bring him back.

“Don’t talk like that, okay?” Winston continued softly, no judgment in his tone, just patience. “Don’t talk to me like this doesn’t mean anything… Like it’s not enough.”

Monty opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a cough, which turned into him clearing his throat like an idiot.

“It’s enough for me,” Winston said, coming around Monty’s front. Monty looked at him, his eyes tired—not at Winston, mostly at himself. “You’re more than enough.”

Monty blinked slowly, and just like that he knew he didn’t need to say anything more. Winston’s head found the crook of his neck, and Monty wrapped his arms around him, nodding.

An hour later, Winston was editing photos on his computer, and Monty was milling about behind him, adjusting the heat on the gas fireplace.

“How’d you choose the number 32?”

“Huh?” Monty asked, getting up and looking over Winston’s shoulder. He was editing a picture of the latest Hillcrest football game—the team lined up and facing the field. As usual, it was beautifully composed.

“Your jersey number,” Winston said. “Was it given to you?”

Monty shrugged. “I chose it. Three’s my favorite number, but that was taken at the time, so I chose 32 randomly.”

“Three’s my favorite number too.”

“No it’s not,” Monty chuckled.

“It is!” Winston said, spinning around in his chair. “I was born on the 3rd of the month, and if you turn the number three around, it spells W. For Winston. Duh.”

“Fucking idiot,” Monty scoffed.

Winston’s eyes lit up. “And if you spin it the other way—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the point,” Monty said. “M for Monty. You’re so cheesy.”

“You love it.”

Winston chuckled, and Monty loved the sound of it. He felt so lucky getting to see this side of Winston—silly, relaxed, happy. It was those in-between moments—seeing him light up at the sound of his voice, seeing the sleep fade from his eyes in the morning, and watching him wash shampoo out of his eyes in the shower—that Monty would never get used to, and never get enough of.

“Yeah, so what if I do,” Monty rolled his eyes, falling back onto the bed. He heard something crack on his back. “Shit.”

He got up quickly, seeing Winston’s polaroid camera on the sheets. He was relieved to see it appeared undamaged.

“Is it ok?” he asked as Winston inspected it. He knew Winston was protective of his camera equipment, and took great care of it.

“I think so,” he said easily. He bit his lip cheekily and looked at Monty. “Wanna test it?”

Panic must have flashed across his face, because Winston immediately nodded in understanding. “We don’t have to.”

_Fuck._ Monty felt so conflicted. He couldn’t risk anything _physical_ evidence of the two of them existing but confronted with the fact that he really couldn’t give Winston a normal relationship in any sense of the word, he knew he really needed to do better here. And taking a picture didn’t sound too bad.

“What about just one?” he asked softly.

“Don’t worry about it, Monty,” Winston repeated, putting the camera away. “Really, I was just joking.”

“I want to,” he insisted, picking the camera back up from the desk. “Show me how to.”

Winston watched Monty’s face for a few seconds, as if he were trying to judge how honest Monty was being, and finally caved, showing Monty where the buttons were, and how to get the right angle for a selfie.

When Monty turned the camera around, Winston lay his head gently on his shoulder and they both smiled. Biting his lip, he took his free hand and poked Winston in the rib, making them both break into laughter. The camera flashed, and minutes later the picture came out. Winston shook it in his hands and handed it to Monty, his eyes twinkling.

In the photo, Winston was smiling, mid-laugh, his eyes looking at Monty fondly, and Monty was smiling too, relaxed and happy, eyes locked with the camera.

“We look really happy,” Winston said, looking pleased with the picture.

“We are,” Monty said, trying to sound casual but clearly failing, hiding a smile into Winston’s shoulder.

***

It was the second away game of the season, Liberty at Riverview. Monty was pumped up, ready to go. Zach gave what Monty had to admit was a fine pep talk before the game, and Monty had added in his two cents at the end to get the team extra amped. Charlie was back in as their quarterback—his knee had healed nicely—and they were out for blood from the kick-off.

The game was rough, but there were few things in the world Monty loved more than the high of playing. He loved the pressure, loved the tackles, loved every yard he gained.

Just before halftime, he launched himself at a player to down him before he could sack Charlie, and he felt his thigh strain at the impact when he hit the ground.

“Monty, you ok?” Zach called, and Monty nodded. Charlie helped him up with a grateful smile.

He bounced back and forth, testing his thigh muscle out, and it didn’t seem like more than a strain. He was fine.

The score was neck and neck into the fourth quarter. With under a minute left and Liberty behind, needing one more touchdown to win it, Charlie passed Monty the ball to run it for a first down, but he twisted away from the first defender and, with a stroke of luck and some great blocking by Luke and Beecher, Monty was in the clear. He sprinted for the end zone, muttering _later losers_ underneath his breath.

Charlie was the first one to reach him, and he crashed his helmet against Monty’s screaming in joy. And then Diego was latching onto his back, others piling in to congratulate him.

“Fuck yes!” Scott was yelling, mouth open in laughter. “You motherfucking animal, Monty.”

Riding that high, Monty turned around toward the spectators. The team was celebrating close to the sidelines, and he was looking for a particular photographer.

Where the fuck was Tyler?

When he turned and spotted him not too far away, he jogged over, and the team followed him, celebrating on a high as the referee called the final whistle.

As the team jogged by Tyler, who was snapping pictures in quick succession, Monty held up three fingers, smiling and sticking his tongue out for good measure. He could hear Tyler’s camera flashing even above the din of the crowd.

Good.

***

That night, when Tyler posted about the game on the school’s website, he included several photos, but the one blown up at the top of the article—of the player with the game-winning touchdown, of course—was the photo of Monty holding up three fingers, winking at the camera as the team celebrated behind him. Just like Monty hoped it would be.

He sent the link to Winston just before falling asleep. When he woke up the next morning, he saw all the texts Winston had sent the night before.

**Winston:** Oh my god

**Winston:** I can’t believe you did that

**Winston:** Fuck, you’re probably asleep

**Winston:** Firstly, it is NOT FAIR for you to send that and fall asleep like a savage, and secondly, I wish you were here so I could show you how much I love that :)

**Winston:** Also you look so fucking hot

**Winston:** Ok going to bed now but again for the record, this was not fair

Monty smirked and shook his head. He shot one text off before hopping in the shower.

**Monty:** What can I say, I missed you at the game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop writing this story after midnight because my tired ass brain can never think of what to write in these notes but I always feel like I want to say something, haha. Given how sad and intense the last two chapters were, and how tough the past week has been for me (for personal reasons), I needed some fluff and cuteness in my life and in the lives of my Monty and Winston haha. I also wanted to write a chapter that hopefully showed the day-to-day struggles of a couple having to keep their relationship hidden (not that I have any firsthand experience with this!), and how Monty ultimately begins processing all of this with his growing feelings for Winston.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual, it's past midnight and I'm on my last brain cell. I struggled a little with this chapter, to be honest, but hope the end result is passable. I wanted to throw in some canon storylines/elements but with a twist.
> 
> Warning for explicit language and violence.

“So, uh, theoretically,” Monty started, trying to sound as casual as possible. “If you were to get someone a birthday present, what would you… get them?”

Charlie perked up, a slow smile spreading across his face, and Monty instantly regretted opening his mouth.

“ _Well,_ ” Charlie said, looking away, but still sporting a shit-eating grin. “That would depend on whose birthday it was. If it were my _mother,_ I’d probably get her some fancy gift set from L’Occitane, but if it were my _brother,_ maybe a new PS4 game… but if it were… you know, someone I _liked…_ say, oh I don’t know, at _school,_ maybe… I’d get them something more personal…”

Monty groaned inwardly, thinking of how best to change the subject as quickly as possible.

Okay. He was starting to stress himself out about Winston’s birthday. They’d planned to spend Saturday night together, and Monty had been thinking and thinking of what to get him but he’d waited too long and now it was already Thursday. It wasn’t that he was procrastinating—okay, maybe a _part_ of him was… but he really didn’t want to it fuck up. He wasn’t good at thinking of presents. Sure, he’d bought Charlie and Bryce presents before, but he usually just got them an X-box game or some basic sports gear. That never came with too much thought. And he’d usually spoil Estela, but that was easy because she had no trouble telling him what she wanted for her birthdays.

Monty had started psyching himself out, thinking of all the presents Winston would be _used_ to getting, being a rich kid surrounded by fellow rich kids. Part of him knew that Winston would appreciate anything Monty got him, but Monty knew that Winston deserved more than a half-assed gift, especially from him.

And so, he’d reached his last resort. Asking Charlie.

Charlie, who was now smirking at him with a knowing look on his face.

“So… Are you going to tell me who the lucky girl is?” he asked, grinning.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Monty deadpanned.

Charlie blinked—his deadpan voice had that effect on people—but alas, was not deterred. He sighed dramatically and looked away, toward the football field that they were eating lunch beside.

“I knew you were crushing on someone,” he continued. “You’ve been in such a good mood lately.”

Monty felt that familiar sense of fear creeping into him. He knew, of course, that there was no way anyone could know about him and Winston, but any thought of their secret getting out still scared the shit out of him.

“I’m not crushing on anyone,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “Jeez, I asked you a simple question, St. George.”

“Ha!” Charlie said, lying back down on the grass. “Okay, _fine._ You’re not crushing on anyone.”

Monty let out a small breath, hoping that Charlie would leave it alone and just give him the advice he’d asked for. Jesus.

“Okay, so…” Charlie said, bringing a hand to stroke his chin. Monty rolled his eyes again. “I’d go with something kind of personal, you know? I’m assuming you’re not going to tell me who she is so I can help make this easier for you…” he paused to let Monty answer, and glanced up to see Monty glaring at him. “…okay, enough said. _Well,_ if you have any inside jokes with her, or if there’s some experience you’ve shared… you could get her a present related to that?”

“That is literally the most unhelpful advice,” Monty said with a sigh.

“Oh, come _on,_ ” Charlie said, moving back into a sitting position. “Or you could get her an experience.”

“An experience,” Monty repeated, upping his glare.

“Yeah!” Charlie nodded. “Take her out somewhere, you know? Go to a carnival… okay, maybe too cold for that… The movies are a little cliché… But you could take her out to a nice restaurant? What about that fall festival happening this weekend out near Riverview?”

Monty’s hearth clenched, and suddenly he really didn’t want to be having this conversation. He couldn’t take Winston out. Not to the movies, to a restaurant, even out on a fucking walk. And maybe that’s why he’d waited this long to think about a present—a part of him knew that nothing he could get Winston would be close to what he deserved.

“Yeah, okay,” Monty said, nodding. He hoped Charlie wouldn’t wonder about his sudden change in demeanor. “That’s fine. Thanks, man.”

Charlie frowned for a second, but Monty was glad he knew him well enough not to push it.

***

That afternoon, during third period, Monty excused himself from class to go to the bathroom. As he passed by the photography classroom, he overheard Tyler talking to one of his friends in the Yearbook club. He was used to drowning out Tyler’s voice in any scenario, but their conversation caught his attention and he lingered outside the classroom, just out of sight.

“Who’s the new Yearbook club lead at Hillcrest, again?”

“Winston,” Tyler said. “Winston Williams.”

“Shit, these are good,” Tyler’s friend responded.

“Yeah, there are some great ones of the Liberty Hillcrest friendly.”

“I love these wide shots.”

“Yeah!” Tyler said. Monty heard what sounded like paper shuffling. “He’s really talented. We can look through them after school. I keep the pictures that all the other schools let us use in these drawers. Segmented by school. These are the ones I gave to Ryan for his Lost and Found sports edition.”

“Well, Winston’s a hell of a lot better than Ben… That asshole never let us use any of Hillcrest’s pictures.”

“Yeah,” Tyler said. “I reached out to Winston over the summer about it, because I knew we’d be a much smaller club this year. I told him we can’t be at every single game, and he said he was happy to let us use any of his pictures for our content.”

“Well, good to know not all those Hillcrest kids are snobs.”

Tyler chuckled. “Yeah.”

Monty ducked around the corner before Tyler and his friend could see him as they left the classroom. He glanced at his watch as a thought came to him. There were still 15 minutes until the end of third period. He bit his lip, pondering his idea for a moment, before thinking _fuck it, okay._

And with that, he slipped into the classroom and locked the door. 

***

**Winston:** Hey! You still at practice?

**Monty:** Just got out

**Winston:** Nice! So I have something to run by you

**Monty:** Yeah?

**Winston:** So you know I was planning on catching a movie with some friends tonight, but one of the freshmen Yearbook kids is out with the flu, and he was supposed to be covering the Fall Fling tonight with Jason, and it’s too big for one person to cover alone.

**Winston:** I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this but no one else volunteered to take the freshman’s place, so as the Yearbook lead I’m kind of obligated to fill the gap…

**Winston:** I wasn’t planning on going to the dance, but I sort of need to be there now

Monty frowned at his phone, staring at Winston’s messages and trying to process how he felt.

**Winston:** If you feel too weird about it, I can see if I can get one of the underclassmen to cover

Part of him wanted to tell Winston that _yeah,_ he felt weird about it and would much rather Winston not spend the night all dressed up at a dance surrounded by horny teenagers. But Monty knew how much Yearbook meant to Winston, and how seriously he took it. Winston hated school, but he loved photography, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed to Monty that Winston was excited about leading the club this year and really putting his stamp on it.

He sighed, dropping his head back against his car seat. He knew he could trust Winston—that wasn’t the issue. But it ate at him knowing that Winston would be going to the dance alone when Monty knew that if he were less of a coward, less messed up in the head, he would be the one taking him.

He knew that Winston going to document a dance for Yearbook, of all things, shouldn’t be a problem, so why did feel so fucking conflicted about it?

_What if he meets someone the dance who can actually, you know, take him beyond the four walls of a bedroom?_

Oh, shut the fuck up.

_I mean, you guys met at a party. A dance is kind of like a party, right?_

Yeah, that evil voice was still there. It had evolved, from mocking him about his father to now conveniently presenting him with every possible thing that could go wrong between him and Winston.

_You faggot._

Yeah, the voice was still very much a fucking asshole.

_I’m sorry I can’t take you,_ Monty started typing before deleting the message entirely.

**Monty:** Yeah that’s fine

**Winston:** Are you sure?? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable

**Monty:** Why would I be?

**Monty:** I’ll see you tomorrow

**Winston:** Okay

**Winston:** I can’t wait to see you :)

**Monty:** :)

Later that night, Monty couldn’t sleep. Estela had come in later than her 10pm curfew, and Monty had smiled when he heard her bump into the kitchen table on her way to her room and swear loudly. He wasn’t angry at her, just glad she was okay. His father wasn’t home yet, and Monty kept telling himself that this was the reason he couldn’t sleep. To be fair, that was part of the reason, but really he just couldn’t stop thinking of Winston and the Hillcrest Fall Fling.

Monty was angry at himself for letting this occupy his mind so much. There was nothing he could do about the fact that Winston was at the dance, and he was not. He wasn’t ready to be out, and— _will you ever be?_ —Fuck. That was really the question, right? Deep inside, a part of him didn’t believe he would ever be ready. It was the same part of him that still believed that everything he was doing with Winston was wrong, was shameful, was something that needed to stay hidden because he wasn’t fucking gay. It all came down to that, really. That part of him that he couldn’t quite shake no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he looked at Winston and knew he couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

At around 1am, Monty was on the official Hillcrest Instagram account page, which had started posting pictures from the dance. He looked through the photos, wondering with a smile which ones Winston had taken. The dance was fancy as fuck, held in an elegant ballroom with tasteful decorations and kids dressed to the nines. It definitely beat dances at Liberty. On top of that, all the pictures were all well-composed—Monty didn’t expect any less from Winston—making the dance look that much more expensive. 

Monty’s finger paused as he swiped to one picture in particular. It was a picture of the bar, with a few kids milling about, but the lens was focused on Winston. Fuck, he looked good. He was wearing a black suit and a charcoal dress shirt—no tie, and a camera covering most of his chest, but he still looked flawless. He was leaning against the bar, a drink in his hands, engaged in conversation with a boy next to him.

A wave of sadness overcame Monty and he pushed it down with an audible grunt of annoyance. He’d never seen Winston in a suit before, and he found himself wishing he was there. Monty thought back to all the pointless dances he’d gone to with random girls that he ended up making out with emotionlessly in dark hallways and bathroom stalls. They were really just that—pointless. And now he found himself wishing he was dancing with Winston but knowing that was something he could never be brave enough to do.

Monty glanced at his backpack where it was propped up against his desk, and thought about the present he’d gotten Winston for his birthday tucked in beneath all his schoolbooks. He sighed heavily, willing himself to fall asleep.

He drifted off before he could see the next from Winston that came in half an hour later.

**Winston:** Missed you so much tonight. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow (or today, technically) <3

***

The next morning, Monty got up early and took a run to clear his head. He was happy to know that getting up and out, moving his body, feeling the crisp breeze on his skin, still helped him calm down. He’d been an athlete all his life—at first it was because he really loved the adrenaline, but now it was more because he loved being part of something. Feeling useful. It didn’t hurt that after-school practice meant he had to spend less time at home, too.

When he got back to his house, he was feeling much better. His father hadn’t come home, and hopefully Monty would be halfway to Winston’s by the time he stumbled in the door. As Monty was tying his shoelaces, he got a call. He looked at his screen and saw it was Bryce. He thought about letting it ring, but decided against it.

“Yo,” he said.

“Hey, my man,” Bryce said. He sounded happy, as usual. “Just calling to see if you wanted to hang tonight? I’m having Luke and Cameron over, and a couple other buddies.”

“Wish I could, man,” Monty said. He’d finalized his “story” last night in case anyone asked him where he’d be. “My dad and I are going up to see my aunt for dinner in Oakland. It’ll be a bore but I couldn’t get out of it.”

“Ah, that sucks,” Bryce said, before hissing loudly.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, just spilled whisky all over my hand,” Bryce said. “Stopped by Hillcrest this morning to pick up my gym bag, and had to teach this fucker of a kid a lesson. Worth it, but my knuckles are still raw as fuck.”

Monty chuckled thoughtlessly. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Bryce said. “Anyway, sucks you can’t hang tonight, but maybe next weekend?”

“Yeah,” Monty said, hoping he could get off the phone now. “For sure.”

“Aite, see you man.”

After hanging up, Monty threw on his flannel and got up off the bed. He took a look at Winston’s present again, holding it in his hands and pushing away his nerves before hiding it back in the comfort of his backpack. And then he was out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, he was inside his car in a CVS parking lot, birthday card and pen in hand. He thought it would be easy, writing a simple birthday card for Winston. But he was spending much longer on it than he originally intended. His phone buzzed on the dashboard.

**Winston:** Are you already on your way?

**Monty:** Just about to head over!

**Winston:** So something came up. I can’t hang out tonight.

Monty had been distracted with the card, and he had to re-read the last text. He frowned immediately.

**Monty:** What happened? Everything ok?

**Winston:** Yeah, I just can’t have you over tonight. I’m really sorry.

**Winston:** I’ll call you tomorrow?

Monty stared at his phone for a few minutes, trying to quell the disappointment rising in his chest. He told himself to get it the fuck together. Since when did he become such a fucking teenage girl.

**Monty:** Yeah, ok.

_Happy birthday,_ he typed. He hesitated for a second before deleting the message. He stared at his steering wheel, not knowing how to feel. Yeah, he was disappointed, but mostly angry at himself for looking forward to seeing Winston so much. After spending the whole night wishing he was with him at that stupid dance, he just wanted to see him.

Monty stayed in his car for another half hour, just getting his breathing under control. Despite his best efforts, he felt himself slipping further and further into anger. Making a quick decision, he pulled his car out of the parking lot and headed for Bryce’s.

***

Winston didn’t call the next day. Monty hated himself for really trusting that he would. Winston had never not done something he said he would do. All the little promises—washing Monty’s flannels so he’d always have a fresh pair at Winston’s, calling him on nights he said he would, waking Monty up on mornings he had early practice—Monty had taken for granted.

When Winston didn’t call on Monday either, Monty had to force himself not to cave in and dial his number. Winston obviously didn’t want to hear from him. Tuesday came and went, and Monty really started to worry. But he was also getting angry— _really_ angry. Was this Winston’s way of breaking up with him? He’d thought Winston would be above ghosting. Had this really meant so little to him?

As he milled around the town on Tuesday night, running random errands just as an excuse not to go home, he found himself coming to the frightening realization that if Winston really did stop talking to him, if this really was the end, it would be as if they’d never been together. No one knew about them, after all. All anyone knew was that Monty had beaten Winston up for no apparent reason on Purcell’s driveway. Winston could just step out of Monty’s life as quickly as he’d entered it. The thought of that scared him so much that he knew no better than to channel all that emotion into rage—it was the only way he knew how to survive it.

He lay in bed on Tuesday night, cursing at himself. He couldn’t even ask anyone if Winston was okay. He didn’t know Winston’s friends, his parents, anyone. He hadn’t needed to—he’d had Winston. And he’d never thought about the possibility of Winston icing him out. He stared at the last text message he sent Winston for the umpteenth time, wondering where he was that very moment.

Later that night, Monty found himself on Winston’s Instagram page. He didn’t post much—hadn’t since before they met—and most of the pictures were black and white photos of landscapes and random artfully-composed scenes. But when Monty scrolled over to see the pictures Winston had been tagged in, he paused. The first picture was one taken from someone’s deck, overlooking a woodsy backyard.

The caption read: Sunday well spent @winstondwilliams

Monty clicked into the person’s profile, and after scrolling through, he paused again when he realized he recognized the boy. It was the same kid Winston had been pictured next to at the dance.

What the fuck?

Monty put his phone away, grinding his teeth and trying to control the urge to throw his desk chair. His vision got blurry and it took him some time to recognize that tears had welled up in his eyes. He wiped at them angrily.

He snatched his phone off his bed again and scrolled down his contact list, looking for Diego. Diego would always be up for a midnight hangout, and Monty needed to get some fucking air.

Before he could find Diego’s name, his phone started ringing.

_Winston Williams calling…_

Fucking shit. This was too much.

For a brief moment he thought about letting it ring until the call dropped, just to give Winston a taste of his own medicine. But he immediately cursed himself for even thinking of doing that and answered the phone.

“Hey,” Winston said. Monty’s head hurt too much to even wonder how he sounded.

“Hey yourself,” he said, and he registered that his voice sounded quite curt. Rude, even.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called,” Winston said, and he did sound genuinely sorry. But Monty fucking wished he didn’t feel this way. Fucking wished he didn’t care so much. Winston had turned him into a fucking hopeless shit. “I’ve been… busy.”

“Right,” he responded.

The silence stretched, and Monty got impatient.

“Not too busy to hang out with that guy you were with at Fall Fling, though, right?” Monty asked, his voice shaking, though from rage or sadness he couldn’t tell. Yeah, he was going to get straight to the point here. He’d waited long enough, and he just wanted answers.

“What?” Winston asked, and even through all his pain Monty still loved the fucking sound of his voice. Hated that he could hear the hurt in his own voice reflected in Winston’s. “Monty…”

“What, Winston?” Monty asked, unable to keep the confusion out of his voice. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I… I can’t…”

Monty swallowed, wishing Winston would just finish. But he didn’t, and Monty’s heart seized with every breath.

“If you want this thing between us to stop… then have the fucking guts to tell me straight up,” he said slowly.

Monty heard a soft gasp escape Winston’s mouth on the other end of the line, and he instantly felt like shit, but not enough to quell his own distress. “Monty, it’s not that, I… Please don’t be angry with me.”

“Just tell me what’s going on,” Monty insisted, wracking his brains for how to make sense of this.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you. It’s complicated, I—”

“How fucking complicated can it be?” Monty felt like he was drowning. He felt like he was going in a tailspin except now Winston was causing it instead of helping him out of it. And without Winston there to save him from the worst part of himself, he felt close to crashing. “Are you—”

_\--cheating on me?_ were the words poised to come out of his mouth but he stopped himself. Were they even in a relationship? They hadn’t even talked about it before. All Monty knew is they were together, whatever that meant, and that was enough for both of them. Or at least it had been.

This was fucking ridiculous. Winston clearly didn’t want to talk if his silence was anything to go by, and here Monty was, practically begging him for an answer. Montgomery de la Cruz, Liberty’s resident heartless jock, had been reduced to _this_. And with a fucking _guy_ , no less _._ No fucking way.

“Fine then,” Monty said abruptly. “I gotta go.”

“Monty, please—” Winston said, panic evident in his voice.

He hung up. Before he could let the hurt overcome him, he called Diego. He needed to get drunk.

***

The next day was a blur. Monty had woken up to two missed calls from Winston and had forced himself not to respond. He got to school agitated and angry, and it must have shown on his face because as he made his way down the hallway, people visibly stood clear of him. On the inside, his head was in turmoil. The evil voice was back, taunting him unhindered now.

_Maybe he finally found himself a nice guy… you know, someone who didn’t beat him to a pulp the night they met?_

_That or he finally saw you for who you are._

_He’s a disgusting faggot, anyway, so you should be glad it’s over._

Monty tried to push the voice away, begged it to leave him the fuck alone, but he was losing control. Winston was the only person whose presence had ever silenced the voice in his head. And now he was back here, angry and volatile and every bit the mess he was used to being.

When Tyler Down accidentally brushed up against him while navigating the halls, Monty reacted instinctively and shoved him up against his locker. He hadn’t lain a hand on Tyler for months now, but the motion came back to him with practiced ease. But when he was face to face with the boy, who was looking back at him with eyes blown wide, Monty drew back.

“Fucking watch it,” he said, eyeing Tyler murderously. His right hand was balled in a fist, but he stopped himself and walked down the hall to homeroom.

***

_Per our newsletter that was shared via email last night, in response to the fight that took place at the Hillcrest vs. Liberty soccer game this past weekend, Hillcrest has called an emergency assembly meeting this morning, and all students are required to attend._

Monty had been zoning out the regular morning announcements until he heard this one. What the actual fuck?

He took his head off of where it had been resting on his notebook and glanced at Scott, who was half-asleep next to him.

“What fucking fight happened at the game?” Monty asked.

“You didn’t hear?” Scott asked, raising an eyebrow. “Where the fuck you been, man? I was telling you at lunch on Monday.”

Monty frowned. He must’ve really been out of it on Monday because the only thing he remembered about lunch was that the cafeteria had been out of fruit loops.

“Jessica Davis staged a protest about rape culture or something… at the game,” Scott whispered, glancing over at their homeroom teacher to make sure she wasn’t paying attention. “I’m fuzzy on the details, I wasn’t there. But anyway, it caused a huge fight between the two teams, so now they’re calling this emergency assembly so the student bodies can, I dunno, kiss and make up.”

“Today?” Monty asked. Because, fucking _of course_ it would be today.

“Yeah,” Scott shrugged. “As good a day as ever, I guess.”

Monty’s head was aching, and he just nodded.

_We will be transporting everyone to Hillcrest this morning, and will be back in time for the lunch period. Please proceed to your assigned bus…_

“How the fuck do we know our assigned bus?” Monty muttered.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Dude.”

“What the fuck, man?” Monty asked. “I’ve been kind of zoned out, okay?”

Scott chuckled. “Yeah, no kidding. Check your email.”

Monty spent the bus ride to Hillcrest in a daze, letting Charlie fall asleep on his shoulder. He usually wouldn’t—his internalized fear of someone seeing and suspecting anything even remotely romantic between them would have stopped him. But he had other things on his mind. He was trying to convince himself that their student bodies were, collectively, big enough that it was entirely possible he wouldn’t bump into Winston. But a part of him needed to know that he would.

His mind suddenly flickered to Winston’s birthday present, which was still in his backpack. He should’ve fucking thrown it away by now.

***

Thank fuck for Charlie and his stash of granola cookies. Monty had skipped breakfast and was counting on skipping second period to get a bite to eat, but second period had been cancelled for students to attend the assembly. That’s why he was currently gorging cookies down while sitting on the Hillcrest basketball court bleachers flanked by Diego and Charlie. Most of the Liberty students had trickled in by now, but Monty was sitting too far on one side to be able to see the Hillcrest students, who were gathered on the other side of the court.

He’d texted Bryce on the way over, but Bryce had responded saying he was home with a fever. Monty didn’t know if he believed him—it seemed too convenient. But he wasn’t about to call Bryce out on it.

When Jessica Davis stepped up to address the two student bodies gathered together, Monty’s phone began buzzing.

**Dad:** Your fucking shoes dragged in dirt last night

**Dad:** You’re cleaning up when you get home

**Dad:** Fucking piece of shit

Monty rolled his eyes. He knew for a fact his shoes didn’t drag in dirt last night because he always took his shoes off outside the front door. He’d already learned his lesson once with dragging dirt into the living room. Five punches and a broken arm’s worth of lessons.

Jessica’s speech certainly sobered him, moving him out of his thoughts and into the moment. He and Jessica had never got along—that was an understatement—but she was built of tremendous strength. He’d be dumb to deny it. And she was good for Justin. Even Monty could recognize that.

When Principal Bolan called for a 5 minute break before they heard from the Hillcrest student body president, Monty and Charlie went to find the bathroom.

As Monty rounded the corner and into the hallway filled with students, he paused when his eyes fell on a familiar face. It was the blond kid that Winston had been with at the Fall Fling. Almost immediately after spotting him, Monty glanced to his right and locked eyes with Winston.

Everything seemed to stop moving. Winston was mid-sentence, and the words seemed to die on his tongue as he met Monty’s gaze.

Before Monty could react, he noticed that something was wrong. Winston’s face was bruised—badly. A black eye, blue splotches down his cheekbone. Monty felt his breathing heat like iron in a fire.

“What the fuck,” he said out loud, before he could stop himself. He didn’t even care that Charlie had heard him and was asking him what was wrong, because Winston had turned around and disappeared into the crowd, and Monty was following.

“Where are you going?” Charlie called after him.

Monty broke into a jog, almost jumping through people in the crowd. He made it outside to the main courtyard, and looked around. The area was empty, but he could’ve sworn that Winston had headed in this direction.

“Did Bryce’s lesson not teach you enough, Winn?”

Monty’s spun around and walked in the direction of the voice. As he rounded the corner, he saw Cameron with his fist in Winston’s shirt, pushing him up against the brick wall. Winston’s eyes were wide with fear.

Monty saw _red_.

He stalked over, _ripped_ Cameron off of Winston, throwing his gym bag onto the floor in the process, and landed a punch squarely on his jaw. Cameron flew to the floor.

“What the _fuck_ , Monty?”

But Monty had turned around to face Winston, who was still leaning against the wall. He looked relieved to see Monty, and Monty smiled at him in reassurance. Nothing else mattered.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Winston nodded, and before Monty could ask him _who the fuck did this to you?_ the sound of footsteps distracted them both as someone came around the corner. It was another one of Bryce’s Hillcrest friends that Monty recognized from the team. And after seeing Cameron on the floor, he looked ready to murder Monty.

Monty rolled up his right sleeve, ready to throw another punch. But then another jock rounded the corner. Fuck, okay, he knew he couldn’t take on the whole team. But for Winston, he could sure as hell try.

And maybe at that point there was still a chance to deescalate the situation. Maybe Monty could’ve just talked them down and feigned a misunderstanding. But then Cameron got up off the floor and made another move toward Winston, and Monty didn’t think twice before knocking him back onto his ass. But then his friends were on him, pulling him off. He got several kicks to the stomach, and almost laughed. It was nothing compared to what his father gave him.

“Stop!” Winston’s voice. He sounded scared.

And then the hands were being pulled off of him. He stumbled to his feet and saw Charlie, Diego, and Scott there. Scott was wrestling with Cameron, but before Monty could acknowledge his friends, he sprinted up to knock one of the other kids down before he could reach Winston.

Monty’s breathing had gone into overdrive, but it seemed like his friends had caught on, forming a half-circle around Winston, who looked confused and overwhelmed.

“We rumbling?” Diego joked, though his face really looked ready for a fight.

“Why the fuck are you defending this fag?” Cameron asked, cocking his head toward Winston.

“Maybe because I’m one too,” Charlie shot back.

Monty had never loved Charlie more. He knew that Charlie had _no_ idea what was going on, but he backed Monty up anyway. All of them did.

“Dude, I’m doing this for _you,_ ” Cameron spat at Monty. “Why the fuck do you think he’s not talking, huh?”

“What?”

Monty blinked in confusion, before a dreadful realization came over him.

“Now move _over_ and I can finish showing him a lesson,” Cameron said.

Monty’s mind flickered back to the weekend, when Bryce had called him.

_“…had to teach this fucker of a kid a lesson. Worth it, but my knuckles are still raw as fuck.”_

Shit. _Shit._

Cameron’s face twisted in anger—getting punched a few times could do that to a guy—but Monty recognized a dangerous look in Cameron’s eyes that he’d often seen in Bryce’s, and he knew in that moment he couldn’t risk Winston being there any longer.

“Get him out of here,” Monty said. His words were directed at Charlie, but his eyes didn’t leave Cameron’s.

Charlie immediately turned around, and Scott landed the first punch on one of the incoming jocks. It was three against three… they could take them on, Monty thought before being blinded by an upper cut that threw him against the wall.

“Monty!” Winston called. Monty could see Charlie pulling him away, but he locked eyes with him. Winston looked distressed, and Monty wished he could reach out and hold him. 

“Go,” Monty said instead. “Get out of here _._ I’ll find you after, okay?”

Winston nodded, and Monty tried to look as reassuring as he could. Charlie was finally able to get Winston out of the courtyard, and knowing that he was safe, Monty turned around and braced himself for the fight.

He landed a few more punches before he heard Principal Bolan’s voice, and a few other teachers’.

Took them long enough.

It took them even longer to actually break _up_ the fight, finally backing Monty, Scott, and Diego up against the wall. The Hillcrest boys had been manhandled to the other end of the courtyard.

“Cameron? Is this your bag?” one of the teachers asked.

Monty looked over and saw Cameron’s gym bag that he had thrown on the floor with his first punch, the contents of which had been strewn across the courtyard in the brawl. Monty smirked when he saw several telltale glass bottles. He wasn’t surprised—no way a guy could be that jacked at 17.

_Suck a dick, asshole,_ Monty thought.

“Why the hell are you _always_ at the center of every altercation, De la Cruz?” Principal Bolan said, exasperated. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking to the ground as if he wanted it to swallow him.

Monty shrugged. For once, this was a fight that Monty knew he’d never regret starting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A part of me just really wanted to write a scene where Monty and co. were defending Winston in a fight and the "co" part of "Monty and co" lowkey had no idea what was going on but were down to rumble anyway because they're Monty's ride or die boys.
> 
> It was only a matter of time before all these monster emotions that Monty was experiencing blew up and became too much to handle. The poor boy's battling a lot of emotional turmoil on his own, and adding a secret romance with its own complications to the mix was never going to be easy. But I think seeing someone you really care about get hurt (whether physically or otherwise) can really, really put things into perspective in a jarring way.
> 
> Hope you guys liked this chapter! Also, if there are any particular canon elements/storylines/events that you'd like me to cover throughout this fic, please suggest them! (No guarantees that I won't take a thousand creative liberties with them though lol). I've outlined the whole fic out but it's not set in concrete and I'm always down for inspo.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus this chapter ended up being so long?? It was originally meant to cover more plot points, but then it just became a monster chapter and I had no control over it. (Lol I sound like a broken record at this point with my poor chapter planning). Welp, I hope you enjoy anyway!
> 
> This basically covers the aftermath of the Monty and co vs. Hillcrest jocks fight and the mess™ that created. Also featuring more Scott, Diego, and Charlie, because I love all of them independently and I'm sad we didn't get any scenes with all of them in the show.

Diego and Scott followed Monty back into the main Hillcrest hallway, which was now relatively empty. Everyone had gathered back in the basketball court for the second part of the assembly. Principal Bolan had ordered them back to the bleachers, telling them he’d be doling out their punishment when they were back at Liberty.

Monty was aware that he had a lot of explaining to do, but now was not the time. Scott and Diego seemed to sense that, and he was grateful that they didn’t push him, though they were clearly concerned. He had no intention of going back to the assembly. He whipped out his phone to text Winston, wondering how he could get a moment alone with him, because _fuck,_ he needed to see him.

“Yo,” Diego said.

Monty looked up and saw that Diego was notifying him of Charlie’s presence. Thank fuck. Charlie seemingly tiptoed toward them from the doors to the basketball court, as if that would help matters.

“Dude, why are you tiptoeing,” Diego said.

“I’m not good at this sneaking around!” Charlie hissed.

Monty bit down the urge to blurt out, _Where’s Winston?,_ but only by the skin of his teeth. He was shocked that he still had some self-control after everything that had just transpired. But Monty wasn’t even thinking about that. All he was thinking about was Winston and the bruises on his face—bruises that brought Monty back to the first night they met and memories he had tried so hard to suppress. He’d hurt Winston enough for a whole lifetime, as far as he was concerned.

Cameron’s words still burned in his mind.

_“Dude, I’m doing this for you.”_

_“Why the fuck do you think he’s not talking, huh?”_

It destroyed him to know that even though he hadn’t been the one landing the punches on Winston this time, it was clear that he was hurt _because_ of Monty. Winston was the only person who’d ever seen Monty— _really_ seen him—for who he was. Monty’s greatest fear was that Winston would one day recognize him like everyone else did—as a cruel bully, a heartless tyrant—and turn his back on him. But Winston had never done that. Not after everything—the violence, the sneaking around, the anger Monty did his best to control but often couldn’t. Winston still lit up when he saw him, still cared for him the way no one else ever had. Winston had given Monty everything he needed, everything he wanted, and here he was only giving him back pain.

It fucking destroyed him. That he’d taken something so beautiful and caused it so much hurt.

“I told him to stay, but…” Charlie was saying. “He said he had to go, and I couldn’t stop him. He seemed pretty shaken up, and… Fuck, I should’ve made him stay, right?”

“Where’d he go?” Monty asked.

“I don’t know,” Charlie said. “He said he had to go, and—What are you doing?”

“Calling an Uber,” Monty said, looking for the app on his phone.

“You can’t _leave,_ ” Scott hissed. “Bolan will murder you if he finds out you peaced out. You’ll get suspended, and—Are you even listening to me? Yo! Monty!”

Yeah, Monty wasn’t listening. He was busy typing in Winston’s address into the Uber app.

“Monty, dude…” Diego said slowly, and something in his tone made Monty stop and look up. “Whatever is going on, just tell us what you need.”

Monty blinked. Diego, Scott, and Charlie all looked at him with the same expression of concern, devoid of judgment. It seems like they’d all taken a page out of Winston’s book. He knew how it must look—hell, there was no way he could lie his way out of this one now. It was obvious _something_ was going on between him and Winston. That was the only conclusion they could come to, right?

Staring into his friends’ faces, Monty pushed aside the fear bubbling in his chest. He couldn’t deal with this now. He had to find Winston first.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. He hoped he looked genuinely sorry, but knowing him, he probably looked like an asshole. “I gotta go.”

***

Monty had the Uber drop him off right in front of Winston's house. Winston always said he could park in his driveway, but he’d never done it before for fear of getting caught. But he didn’t fucking care this time.

The smaller gate that led into the garden by Winston’s bedroom was wide open. Monty had seen Winston’s Audi in the open garage, so he knew he was home. Monty jogged past the fountain and slipped onto the veranda and looked in through the glass of the sliding doors. He couldn’t see Winston anywhere. Monty took his phone out of his pocket.

 **Monty:** Where are you? I’m on the veranda

Monty saw something flicker inside the bedroom and realized that it was Winston’s phone lighting up with the notification on his bedside table. Patience had never been a virtue of his, and after thirty more seconds of waiting, Monty slipped in through the sliding doors and into Winston’s bedroom.

He saw Louie curled up by the fireplace, in his usual spot. When he saw Monty, he immediately got up and greeted him by winding around Monty’s leg.

“Hey,” he whispered at Louie. It had only been a week since he last saw him, but it still felt like too much time had passed.

“Monty?”

He spun around at the sound of Winston’s voice. And sure enough, there he was, in the doorway, staring at him in surprise. He was out of his Hillcrest uniform, just in a grey Henley shirt and jeans. And he had a capri sun, unopened, in one hand.

And Monty almost crumpled right there and then. The next thing he knew he was holding Winston to his chest, exhaling what seemed like his entire air supply into the space behind him.

“Why are you here?” Winston sounded choked up.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he whispered, clenching his eyes tight and thanking God Winston was safe. He knew Bryce, and he knew Cameron. He wasn’t an idiot—a part of him had no doubt that if things had escalated differently—God, if Monty hadn’t _been_ there—Winston could be in much worse shape.

Monty drew back when he felt Winston shake against his chest. It was brief, but he noticed it.

“Shit,” Monty said when he saw that Winston’s cheeks were wet. “Winston…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. Inexplicably, he looked disappointed at _himself._ “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Why the fuck was Winston the one apologizing?

“Shut up,” Monty said instinctively, then clenched his jaw for a moment. He really needed to work on his verbiage. “Don’t you even think about apologizing, okay? I should be the one… Fuck.”

He ran a finger, gently, up Winston’s jaw, tracing the bruises. He was feeling more and more distressed just looking at his face. He guided Winston onto his bed until they were both sitting side by side. His hands were still on him—he couldn’t pull away. He just needed to know he was there. He was safe.

“What happened?” Monty asked.

Winston swallowed.

“You don’t have to—”

“No, I want to,” Winston insisted, sighing. He looked so mad at himself, and it tore Monty up because Winston hadn’t done anything wrong. Monty had started all of this by beating Winston to a pulp. He was the reason Bryce even knew who Winston was. 

“On Saturday morning, I went to Hillcrest to develop some of the photos from the dance,” Winston started. Monty caressed the inner part of Winston’s wrist, trying to comfort him but also trying to remain calm himself. It wouldn’t be a good look for him if he started screaming in rage. “I was working in the darkroom, and… I usually lock it, but I don’t know why I didn’t this time. I was hanging up all the photos, not just from the dance, but from all the events I’d covered this year… and B-Bryce walked in.”

Monty could feel rage burning in his chest, hot as an iron, but he fought to keep himself under control. He had to, for Winston.

“At first I didn’t hear him… I had headphones in,” Winston said quietly. “But then I heard him shouting. He asked me if I’d forgotten the deal we’d made…”

Monty wanted to ask _what deal?_ but he didn’t want to interrupt.

“I… I had hung up some photos of you,” Winston said. “From the Liberty friendly. Not _just_ of you… but there were a couple… I was going to bring them home to show you that night, and… I didn’t think anyone would be there on a Saturday morning. And I usually lock the door, so I wasn’t trying to be irresponsible—”

“Stop,” Monty said, realizing that of all things Winston was sorry about, it was that he’d risked Monty’s secret coming out. “You weren’t. This isn’t your fault.”

“I made a deal with him,” Winston continued, still not looking at Monty. “The night of Purcell’s party. He came back after taking you away. He offered me money, and I made a deal not to call the police."

“I thought that was going to be it, but the week after that… at school, he told me he knew that Brian Chu took my SATs for me, and that if I didn’t want that getting out, I had to promise to leave you alone.”

Monty’s breathing got ragged. The weekend he’d beaten Winston up, he’d spent the night at Bryce’s. He’d been battling waves and waves of emotion—still fighting the guilt, the confusion, _everything—_ and a vivid memory came back to him.

_“He’s going to fucking talk,” he’d said, lying back on Bryce’s couch. “He’ll just take the money and talk.”_

_Bryce had looked at him, then, and Monty hadn’t registered it at the time, but he knew the wheels had been turning in his head._

_“I’ll take care of it,” he’d said._

Fuck. This was all his fucking fault. That was why Winston had looked so terrified of Bryce when he’d seen them talking at that party after having sex in the bathroom. His chest constricted with rage, knowing what Bryce had done. Knowing that this whole time, the whole time he’d been seeing Winston, Bryce had been holding this threat over him. And Winston had kept it from him to protect him.

“So I guess when he saw those pictures of you, he just assumed I wasn’t holding up my end of the deal…” Winston said. “And he just… he just hit me and I couldn’t stop him. Jason found me on the floor when he came in for his darkroom shift, and I told him I couldn’t go home, because I didn’t want my parents asking any questions. So, I spent the night in his guest room… A-and that’s why I was with him on S-Sunday.”

Monty pulled Winston in, holding him against his chest as he grew silent. He hated himself now for even implying Winston had been cheating on him. What the fuck had he been thinking?

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Monty said, feeling tears escape his eyes before he could even control himself. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there… I could’ve protected you. If I’d known, I would’ve fucking busted his head in—”

Fuck. To think that the night of Winston’s birthday, when he’d driven to Bryce’s from the CVS and walked in on him icing his knuckles, Monty had just laughed it off and thrown him a drink from the pool house mini fridge.

“Hey,” Winston said, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault.”

“It _is,_ ” Monty said, his voice shaking. Fuck, he’d lost all self-control now. There was no point denying it anymore. “ _All_ of this is my fault. You deserve—”

“Now _you_ stop,” Winston said. “Monty, don’t you get it? I… You mean everything to me. I wanted to protect you too. Protect you from having to come out before you were ready. And just now at school? You did that. For me. You risked every—”

“I know what I did,” Monty said, already seeing and hating the guilt that was creeping into Winston’s face. “I don’t regret it. I don’t care. I just care about you I’ll figure out how to explain it to Charlie and the rest.”

“ _We’ll_ figure it out,” Winston said, finally locking eyes with Monty and holding his gaze. Monty was relieved to see that the way Winston looked at him still hadn’t changed.

After all that had happened to Winston because of Monty, he was still the anchor to Monty’s frenetic storm.

“I never want you to keep anything like that from me again,” Monty said, surprising himself with how serious he sounded. Because he was.

“I knew you were friends with Bryce, and—”

“ _Fuck_ Bryce,” Monty said, barely keeping the rage out of his tone. But his voice shook with it. “Bryce and I are fucking done. You’re what matters to me, okay?”

Winston nodded, and even with that Monty still hated himself. He knew he should have cut Bryce out of his life a long time ago. But he hadn’t. And he’d regret that forever.

“You don’t have to protect me,” Monty said. “We’re together, okay? It’s you and me.”

Winston nodded again, more fiercely this time, and pulled Monty in by the collar of his Liberty jacket.

Their kiss was wet, both their tears mingling, but Monty didn’t care. He wrapped one arm around Winston, pulling him closer. Their kiss deepened, a new kind of desperation seeping in, and Monty could feel all his emotions pouring into it. It wasn’t their usual lust-filled, playful kiss—it was something different. Monty brought a hand up to cup Winston’s cheek, wishing he could erase every single blow Bryce had dealt him.

When his phone started buzzing in his pocket, he tried to ignore it. But then another call came in, and Winston pulled away.

“You should maybe get that,” he said, smiling. Monty nodded absently, because it had been a while since he’d seen Winston smile, and even now it distracted him as it had the night they first met.

When he finally got his phone out of his pocket, the call had dropped, but he also saw that he had tons of texts—mostly Charlie, Scott, and Diego blowing up their group chat asking if he was okay and where he was. Scrolling through quickly, Monty realized that the three of them were in Diego’s car now, skipping school and looking for him. They’d been to his house, to Liberty, even to that spot by the pier he sometimes hung out at to blow off steam. Monty also noticed that he had two missed calls from Bryce, but chose to ignore them.

“My friends are looking for me,” Monty said, sighing. He wracked his brains for how he could possibly explain this to them, and the only conclusion he came to didn’t scare him as much as he thought it would.

And looking at Winston in the afternoon light, seeing his brow furrowed with gentle concern, Monty knew with a sudden but undeniable clarity that he wanted to do this.

“Can I tell them to come here?”

“What?” Winston asked, looking genuinely confused.

“I want to tell them,” Monty said, feeling more certain of it as the words came out of his mouth.

“You do?” Winston asked. “Are you just saying this because—”

“ _No,_ ” Monty said. “I… They deserve to know. And I… I trust them to keep it a secret. I do.”

Sure, the fear was still there, it was still a _part_ of Monty, but Monty knew his friends deserved for him to trust them. They’d never given him any reason to doubt them before. He pushed thoughts lingering thoughts of negativity out of his mind. He felt above it now.

“I’m ready to tell them,” Monty said, trying to gauge Winston’s reaction. “If you’re okay with that, of course.”

“Of course I am!” Winston said, his eyes twinkling. “Tell them to come. My parents are out for work this week, so we have the place to ourselves.”

“Thank you,” Monty whispered, and Winston took his hand in his own. Monty felt steadied by the warmth of his palm.

Monty texted Winston’s address to the group, and it felt like sending a wish into the dark.

Fifteen minutes later, Monty saw the gate on the other side of the garden open and recognized Charlie, Diego, and Scott stepping through. Monty saw Diego glance at the fountain and say something, and Scott proceeded to slap him on the back of the head.

Monty got up from where he was still sitting with Winston, and after he glanced back and saw Winston nod at him encouragingly, he opened the sliding doors slowly.

“Hey,” he said, and Charlie looked so relieved to see him. He rushed forward and hugged Monty, who could only chuckle slightly and return the embrace.

Suddenly, seeing them all there, looking at him expectantly, Monty felt his palms sweat. They didn’t look angry, or even that confused, but all the same Monty had never felt this exposed. But then he felt Winston there, behind him, his soft voice whispering—barely audibly—that it was okay.

All his life, Monty had gotten most of his bravery from rage, from fear. Yeah, it was amazing how much courage fear could give you, especially as you dodged blows and hits and punches. But now, he felt himself grasping at something else for that courage. Grasping at another feeling he knew was there to stay.

He half-expected the evil voice in his head to pipe up then, because it usually did when he was about to do something his father would disapprove of. But it was silent, and Monty felt like maybe it had finally given up.

“So…” he started, biting the inside of his lip immediately. God, he sounded like a tool. He expected Diego to get impatient and usher him along, but he didn’t. “This is Winston.”

He gestured behind him, to where Winston was standing with a polite smile.

“He’s, uh… he’s my boyfriend,” Monty continued. It was the first time he’d ever referred to Winston as his boyfriend, but it felt right. He watched his friends’ faces carefully for any reaction. What he saw was a little surprise—especially on Diego’s face—but not anything explosive or unexpected. That gave him the courage to keep going. “I… I’ve been working things out a lot recently… I mean, about myself. But yeah, I… I’m gay.”

Silence stretched between them, and he felt his words linger in the air. Monty swallowed thickly.

“I know I just hugged you…” Charlie started softly, his face breaking into a small smile. “But can I hug you again?”

And then whatever ice was left was broken by Scott surging forward and bringing Monty into tight hug.

“Not if I beat you to it,” he laughed.

A chuckle escaped Monty’s lips as Diego and Charlie joined in the embrace, and he felt relief like never before. He caught Winston’s gaze, and he hoped his own reflected the gratitude he felt in his heart, because Winston had given him _this._

Once their hug of all hugs finally subsided, Charlie was still smiling like a goof.

“Thanks for telling us,” he said.

“Yeah,” Monty said, still in disbelief that they knew. His three best friends knew he was gay, and there they were in front of him, looking at him no differently.

“How long…?” Diego asked, gesturing between him and Winston. His tone was not accusatory, just curious.

“Since the summer,” Monty said. “We, uh… met at a party. The weekend before Charlie got back from Oregon.”

“Shit,” Charlie laughed. “I _knew_ something was different! You were all distracted.”

“No wonder you were on your phone so much,” Scott said, realization dawning on his face. “I thought you were crushing on some girl.”

“That’s what _I_ thought!” Diego chimed in.

“I’m really glad you felt like you could tell us, man,” Scott said, smiling at Monty. “And I’m sorry if you felt like you couldn’t before.”

“No, it wasn’t that,” Monty said immediately. “Really, it wasn’t. I just wasn’t ready. And… I’m still not ready to be… you know, _out_ , completely. I just… I wanted to tell you guys.”

“We won’t say a word,” Charlie said. “You don’t need to worry.”

Diego and Scott nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” Monty said, but even then it didn’t feel like enough.

A comfortable silence stretched before Winston cleared his throat.

“Um…” Winston started. “Do you guys want anything to drink?”

Monty chuckled when his friends marveled at the fact that Winston had a mini-fridge in his room, with Charlie making a mental—but very much verbal—note to himself to ask his mom for one for Christmas. Diego made a comment about the fireplace being bigger than his bed, and Winston laughed. While Diego went to the bathroom, Charlie asked Winston about his photo wall, and Monty smiled seeing them get along instantly. They were his two favorite people in the world, after all.

“Holy shit!”

They all turned at the sound of Diego’s voice coming from inside the bathroom.

“This fucking bathtub though! You could fit our whole team in here!”

Scott barked out a laugh.

“Shit, dude, shut up! We want Winston to like us!” he said.

Monty took a moment to recognize everything that had transpired in the last fifteen minutes. He was standing there, in Winston’s bedroom—a place that had for so long just been for the two of them, alone, sealed off from the outside world—except now his friends were there. And everything was okay. His world still was still spinning at a normal speed, and he was okay.

Winston brought in a few bean bags from the guest room, and Diego made yet another comment—all in good fun—about how the bean bags were the size of his car before diving forward into one, jostling what seemed like the entire room. Monty barked at him to behave—Jesus, since when had he become the mother of this group?—and Winston chuckled and told him _it’s fine._

“So, Winston,” Diego said. “On behalf of the three of us and the entire team, thank you for putting up with Monty, because he’s been a much more mild-tempered guy over the past few months, let me tell you.”

Winston chuckled, and Monty caught his gaze and burst into laughter himself. Monty hoped Winston liked his friends. It seemed like he did. 

After a few more jokes at Monty’s expense, Scott cleared his throat in that way that Monty knew meant business.

“So… I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Scott said slowly, sighing as he leaned back on Winston’s desk chair. “But… That fight at Hillcrest today. I mean, we’ve got to be able to explain it. I got a missed call from Bryce earlier today.”

“I did too,” Charlie said, and Monty nodded in affirmation as well.

When Scott brought up the fight, Monty was pulled back into the reality of what had happened that day. What he’d done to Cameron. Fuck. Couldn’t he just have a happy moment not be interrupted by bullshit?

Winston must have seen the fear on Monty’s face, because he caught his gaze and his eyes spoke volumes.

“Can I?” he mouthed, and Monty nodded.

Winston proceeded to catch the trio up on what Bryce had done, the leverage he had over him, and Monty marveled at how Winston’s version of the story put none of the blame on Monty. If Monty had been telling the story, he would have said straight up that this whole mess was on his shoulders, but Winston really didn’t believe it to be. Winston always saw the good side of him, no matter the circumstance, and that was still something Monty was getting used to.

“That mother _fucker,_ ” Diego said when Winston finished.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked Winston. “Those bruises are pretty nasty.”

“I’m fine,” Winston said. “They’re healing quickly.”

“No wonder you wanted to beat Cameron up ‘til he couldn’t walk,” Charlie muttered.

“I don’t want you going back there,” Monty thought before realizing he’d said it out loud. Winston looked at him in confusion.

“To school?” Winston asked. “I can’t not—”

“Y-you’re not safe,” Monty said. “What if something like that happens again? I won’t be there.”

Panic started to build up in his chest, but he felt Charlie’s hand on his knee.

“We’ll figure this out.”

“I want to fuck Bryce’s face up,” Monty confessed. “I really fucking do.”

“I mean, welcome to the club,” Diego said, shrugging.

“Now, _that_ won’t help matters,” Scott argued. When Monty looked at him murderously, he sighed. “Look, beating Bryce up would only guarantee two things. First, Bryce would _know_ something was up between you and Winston, and even if you don’t care about that, _fine,_ but the _second_ thing it would do is give Bryce no reason to keep Winston’s SAT secret. And if _that_ got out, he’d be expelled.”

Fuck. Monty had forgotten about that small detail. Bryce still had something on Winston.

“Look, Bryce thinks he’s protecting _you_ from Winston,” Scott said, ever the level-headed debater, even under duress. “We can just let him continue thinking that he is. You two just need to lay low around Bryce, and eventually he’ll stop.”

“ _Eventually_ isn’t good enough,” Monty said. “Do you see his face?” he added, pointing at Winston.

That silenced Scott, who sighed in acknowledgement.

“Then I’ll take Bryce out,” Diego said. Monty knew he was joking, even though his face wasn’t visible to him as he was leaning back on the bean bag. He sounded deep in thought, though.

“I have an idea,” Charlie said suddenly. “It’s wild, but I think it’ll work.”

“We’re all ears,” Winston piped in. He was sitting cross-legged at the top of the bed, his body pillow resting on his lap comfortably.

“What if we tell Bryce that _I_ like Winston?” Charlie asked. “Everyone already knows I’m bi. We can tell him that I met Winston at a party, after the one where you guys met. Winston doesn’t have to like me back or anything, but that’ll explain why we were protecting him. _I_ was the one who got him out of the courtyard after all, right? The story fits. We can just say that I told you guys I was crushing on him, so you guys went to protect him when you saw Cameron threatening him.”

Monty blinked. Everyone else looked a little taken aback at how perfectly believable the story seemed. It wasn’t a bad idea at all.

“ _And,_ this way Bryce will hopefully not mess with you again,” Charlie said, directing his attention to Winston. “Bryce likes me. If he thinks I like you, maybe he’ll lay off.”

“Will Bryce really believe that?” Diego asked.

“I’ll tell him myself,” Charlie shrugged. “He doesn’t believe I can actually lie.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Monty said, shaking his head. He wanted to protect Winston at all costs, but he didn’t want to drag Charlie into this mess as well.

“You’re not asking me,” Charlie said. “I’m offering. I don’t lose anything by doing it.”

“It’d be a favor to me,” Winston said slowly. “It’d be me you’re protecting, not Monty. And you don’t even know me.”

“If you’re the reason he’s been so happy over the past few months, then you’re as important to me as he is,” Charlie said simply.

Winston blinked at the certainty in Charlie’s voice. He look shocked, but immeasurably grateful. Monty wanted to hug Charlie again, but he figured there had been too much hugging already. Charlie exchanged nods with Scott and Diego, who both nodded back in support. Fuck, he loved his friends.

“Plan settled, then?”

“Thank you, Charlie,” Winston whispered. “I owe you one.”

“Well, you _don’t,_ but if I could take your car for a spin one day, I wouldn’t say no,” Charlie joked.

“Deal!” Winston laughed. “You can take as many spins as you want. My parents have a Porsche, too.”

“Now you’re talking,” Charlie chuckled.

“Any favors you need from me?” Diego piped up. “I want a spin too.”

“Oh my _God,_ Diego,” Scott groaned.

Monty rolled his eyes as Diego and Scott started bickering.

“Thank you, man,” he said to Charlie softly. “I don’t know how to even—”

“If you’re going to end that sentence with the words _repay me,_ you better shut up,” Charlie said. “You’ve taught me everything I know, Monty. You’re my brother. You’re not the one who needs to repay me.”

Monty smiled, and he hoped that was enough because he couldn’t find the words to voice how much he appreciated it.

“Winston seems great,” Charlie said, glancing back at where Winston was now showing Diego pictures of his parents’ car on his phone. Diego was laughing, and Scott was rolling his eyes.

“He is,” Monty said.

“I’m glad you’re so happy,” Charlie said, biting his lip to stop himself from grinning so much.

“Yeah, yeah me too.”

After a few more hours of laughter, a few rounds of video games on Winston’s TV—complete with Scott, Charlie, and Diego interrogating Winston for funny stories about Monty and his softer side—Diego finally called it a night. He’d woken up late that day and missed the bus, so he’d taken his parents’ car to Hillcrest, and that ended up being the car they’d taken on their search for Monty that afternoon. He had to have it back before nightfall, and he offered to drop Scott and Charlie off on his way.

“I’ll call Bryce tonight,” Charlie said as he put his varsity jacket back on. Monty clasped hands with him one more time. “I’ll let you know once it’s done.”

Monty and Winston saw his friends off on the veranda, and when they were finally gone, Monty turned to Winston nervously.

“Did you like them?”

Winston grinned wide, reminding Monty of how he’d looked up at him that first night they’d met in Purcell’s bedroom. Now, in the evening light, he looked all the more beautiful.

“Loved them,” he said. He looked like a little kid at Christmas, and Monty could only smile at him.

“I’m so proud of you,” Winston continued. “How do you feel?”

Only a week ago, the thought of anyone else knowing about him and Winston’s relationship had scared him to the bone. He really thought his whole world would stop and be thrown in turmoil if anyone knew he was gay. He knew that saying it out loud to someone would make it _real,_ and Monty hadn’t ever been ready for that until now. But now that he’d finally told Charlie, Scott, and Diego, he didn’t feel the panic he’d been expecting—the panic he’d even been _ready_ for. He just felt happy. Happy because it was true—he was gay, and Winston was _his_. And it felt good sharing that. For once in his life, he felt genuinely in control.

“Good,” he said. “I feel really good.”

Winston hugged him, and he mouthed a thank you into Winston’s shoulder.

***

As they prepared for bed, Monty smiled when he saw that Winston had folded his sleep shirt in his drawer. He put it on and brushed his teeth while Winston got them both a glass of water from the kitchen.

When Monty re-entered the bedroom and observed Winston’s photo wall, he remembered something with a start. When Winston came back, he looked confused to see Monty staring back at him with wide eyes.

“Monty?”

Monty ignored him, walking over to where his backpack was, leaning against Winston’s desk chair. He rummaged through it for Winston’s present.

“I got you something for your birthday,” he said, finally finding the small gift-wrapped item and steeling himself once again.

He turned around to face Winston, who was looking at him curiously from his bed.

Monty handed him the present and the card wordlessly.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it on Saturday. I… I was an ass.”

Winston shook his head. “You reacted exactly how I would’ve.”

Winston’s eyes lit up reading Monty’s card, and Monty felt some semblance of relief knowing that at least he could _write_ a birthday card without screwing up. He’d also attempted a crude sketch of Louie, which Winston found hilarious and endearing.

When Winston began unwrapping his gift, Monty had to look away.

“Wait… Is this…” Winston started, his brow furrowing in thought. In his hands, he held a framed, black-and-white photo of the Hillcrest football field the night of the friendly against Liberty. “I took this.”

“Yeah,” Monty whispered. “You, uh… you need to remove the frame.”

Winston blinked slowly, turning picture around and unfastening the frame. He exhaled in wonder when he saw what was behind it—it was the polaroid of the two of them that Monty had taken, taped carefully to the back of the black-and-white photo of the game.

Monty grew nervous as he waited for Winston to say something.

“Monty,” Winston said softly. “You… This is perfect. I love it.”

“You do?” Monty asked.

Winston nodded, and he looked so unbelievably shocked, but in the best way possible.

“I just figured that since you already have so many pictures up on your wall with the… um… _real_ pictures behind the ones on display… I thought maybe you could have one that reminded you of us. Since we had our first night together after that game, and all,” Monty said. “You don’t have to put this one up, I just—”

“Are you kidding?” Winston interrupted.

Monty laughed as Winston got up immediately and made for his desk. He got out a small hammer and a pack of nails.

A few minutes later, and with some of Monty’s help, the picture was up beside all of the others. Monty was relieved that the frame he’d chosen looked pretty indistinguishable from the ones Winston had used for his other photos.

“It looks at home already,” Winston before turning around to face Monty. “Fuck, I really love it. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“Well, I _stole_ the picture from Tyler’s files,” Monty admitted. “So, it wasn’t all innocent, but…”

“I don’t care,” Winston giggled, pulling Monty into a soft kiss. “I always expect a little mischief from you.”

“Oh yeah?” Monty asked, raising an eyebrow with a smile.

“No one’s ever gotten me something like that,” Winston said, still shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well, it’s about time, then,” Monty chuckled softly. He was still in awe of Winston—how lucky he was to be there with him, how lucky he was that Winston had seen him that day on Purcell’s balcony. In the few months they’d known each-other, Monty’s life had turned right side up. All the crevices in him that were once filled with anger were now filled with something else. He wasn’t an idiot—he knew his demons were still there, lurking beneath the surface. Ready to attack whenever his resolved weakened.

But in that moment, still riding the high of seeing Winston and his friends getting along so well, he knew that a part of him was changed forever. Fuck the voice inside his head.

“Winston, I…” he started.

_“I-I’m Winston, by the way.”_

_“Monty.”_

“I love you,” he whispered. It was barely audible, but Winston heard him.

He blinked back at Monty surprise, his eyelashes fluttering like pages in a book. For a moment, Monty matched his shock. _Fuck._ He’d just said that. He’d said it, he couldn’t take it back now.

But he didn’t want to. It was the truth.

Winston’s hands were cupping his face, and the smile that broke out on his face was, sure as hell, brighter than any daybreak he’d ever seen.

“That's a relief," he whispered back. "'Cause I love you too _._ ”

***

Later that night, when Monty was drifting to sleep beside Winston, listening to the soft rise and fall of his chest, his phone buzzed on the bedside table.

 **Charlie:** It’s done. Bryce totally bought it. You and Win are in the clear!!

 **Charlie:** Can I call him Win? Do you call him Win?

 **Monty:** Take a bow. Thank you man.

 **Monty:** And I don’t, but you can I guess? I don’t know man

 **Charlie:** Ha! Enjoy your snuggles

 **Monty:** Aite shut up, see you tomorrow

 **Charlie:** :P

Monty smiled as he put his phone back on the table. A part of him wanted to wake Winston to tell him, but he knew it had been a hell of a day for Winston, and he wanted to let him sleep. He adjusted himself under the comforter and slept peacefully for the first time that week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah I feel like so much happened in this chapter that I don't even know where to start with these end notes haha. Part of why I'm writing this fic is really because I wanted to reimagine Monty's life and what could have happened if he'd met Winston earlier and actually had the opportunity to accept the part of him he'd been trying so hard to fight in the show. 
> 
> In Season 4, I feel like we finally got to see just how much the jocks cared about Monty. The scene I'm thinking about specifically is when Winston tells Diego that he'd been with Monty the night of Bryce's murder, and Diego doesn't judge Monty for being gay but instead just says "It's okay if he was... I just didn't know." I kind of interpreted that as Diego feeling guilty that Monty didn't feel like he could confide in him about it, and that kind of tore me up because in Season 3 Monty just seemed entirely alone. So long story short, that little scene between Winston and Diego in S4 kind of inspired this whole chapter. I wanted to show Monty surrounded with love as opposed to starved of it.
> 
> Of course, all that love can't last forever, right? Lol, not to be cryptic or anything. Right, it's nearly 3am and that's a sign I should peace out. Hope you guys enjoyed!


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